


Compass

by missunderfoot



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arya looks like Lyanna, Badass Arya, Cousin Incest, F/M, Jealous Jon, King Jon, Minor Violence, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-23 09:55:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 50,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8323450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missunderfoot/pseuds/missunderfoot
Summary: What do you know of my heart, priestess?What do you know of my sister? Jon and Arya return to Winterfell to find that home, as they know it, is gone.   Everything has changed. Jon and Arya post-reunion ❤️





	1. Jon

**Author's Note:**

> Song inspiration: Compass by Zella Day
> 
> Killing time while waiting for The Winds of Winter :)
> 
> I really love Jon and Arya's relationship, especially in the books. I'm hoping that George keeps to his original outline and that Jon and Arya are still endgame.
> 
> Disclaimer: English is not my first language so my apologies for any grammatical errors.

I came to her that night.

We were on our way south to treat with Daenerys Targaryen and her allies when we were attacked by Lannister forces near Harrenhal.

I had been hesitant to bring Arya along, I wanted her to stay behind at Winterfell, safe behind its slate walls. We argued about it for days but in the end, I relented to her wishes as I had always done in the past. 

Her safety was not the only reason why I wanted to leave her behind. I needed time away from her - from her all-too-perceptive grey eyes and beguiling smiles. From the moment I saw her at the gates of Winterfell with her grey direwolf by her side, I had felt off-balance. It was if my entire world has shifted off of its axis.

In the last five years, I've kept her memory close at heart. Whenever I think of Arya, I think of that scrawny little girl I bid farewell to that snowy morning in Winterfell. But gone was Arya Underfoot. In her place was this young woman with windswept dark hair and shining grey eyes. 

My days became filled with visions of her. And I find myself thinking of her even at the most inopportune times. It was madness. And a man in my position could not indulge this kind of madness.

 _Love is the death of duty_. It is a lesson I knew all too well. I had once turned my back on my duty for Arya and died in turn. I couldn't allow it to happen again. I could not let my emotions cloud my thinking. Not when thousands of lives depend on it. 

At the start of our journey, I had given instruction to Brienne of Tarth to get Arya away at the first sign of danger. In hindsight, I should have known better. Arya would never turn tail and run from a battle.

While in the middle of a skirmish, I turned and saw her just as she savagely thrust her sword in a man's throat. She was wielding two short swords with Nymeria and a dozen or so lean wolves by her side.

My men were able to subdue the Lannister forces with minimal loss on our side. The Lannisters have endured battle after battle since the day the bastard king Joffrey ordered Ned Stark's death and their forces were sorely depleted.

Once the dead bodies have been burned and the captives secured in the prison pen, I went in search of Arya, wanting to make sure that she's not hurt.

I found her inside her tent, naked in a copper tub, the water tinged pink with the blood of her slain enemies.

There were a hundred different questions swirling in my head. _What happened to you, little sister?_ _Where have you been?_ _How did you learn to fight like that?_

As if she could read my mind, Arya looked up at me with a wry smile. "I know what you must be thinking. You must think me a savage little beast. I know what people call me behind my back... the she-wolf. They think I'm more beast than man and they're probably right."

I looked at her with wary eyes. "What happened to you, little sister?"

"Three years ago, I boarded a ship to Braavos with nothing but an iron coin and a little sword. There was nothing left for me here, you see. My pack was gone."

She hugged her knees to her chest, curling into a slender ball of silky dark hair and porcelain skin. "In Braavos, I served the Many-Faced God and gave His gift to many, many people."

"I've worn a hundred different faces and lived a hundred different lives. And in the process, I've lost the best part of me. All the good parts. It's all gone."

_The Faceless Men._

In the past year, I had learned bits and pieces about what happened to Arya after father's death. There was Harwin, one of father's men-at-arms, who told me about Arya's time with the Brotherhood without Banners. And there was a plump baker named Hot Pie who traveled with her from King's Landing and around the Riverlands.

I had since wondered what happened to her in the years after she was separated from the Brotherhood. And now that Arya finally told me her story, I realize that it was a story that I wasn't quite ready to hear. Not now, maybe not ever. Because it was quite beyond my worst imaginings.

I remembered the days leading up to my death, how worried I was about her, my little sister, alone and helpless. How the thought of her in another man's bed nearly drove me mad with rage. And at that time she was in Braavos, training under the most feared guild of assassins in the known world.

I would have laughed if it wasn't so horrific.

She looked up at me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears and her solemn face displaying all the hurt and pain she had tried so hard to keep from the world.

"Please don't hate me, Jon. I couldn't bear it if you hate me."

I took a couple of steps towards her until I'm standing by the tub. I reached out a hand to her wet strands and stroked her hair gently.

"I could never hate you," I said quietly.

I didn't know how long I stood there, stroking her head while she soaked in her bath, the water doing little to hide her nude form.

I traced the outline of her face with my fingers, lightly touching her eyebrows, the bridge of her nose, and her cheekbones. Until finally, I touched her lips, stroking it back and forth with my thumb.

She stared up at me, her grey eyes, so similar to my own, unblinking, as she opened her mouth and sucked on my thumb. The sensation drifted from my fingers to my groin as if she was sucking another part of me.

"Arya..." I whispered, my voice hoarse.

She continued sucking my thumb, nipping it gently, while my other hand grasped the back of her head, asking her without words not to stop what she was doing.

 _Would you bed your sister?_ Ygritte's words came back to haunt me. And it was as though I'd been slapped.

I wrenched my thumb from her mouth. I needed to get away from her. It was a matter of self-preservation.

"I need to go."

She stared back at me, with a confused look in her eyes. I took deep furious breaths, trying to control my arousal when she suddenly stood up from the tub.

She was entirely nude. 

And in that moment, I felt every vestige of my control slip away.

_You know nothing, Jon Snow._


	2. Arya

My first kiss was when I was twelve. I remember the wet tongue sticking into my mouth, almost making me gag. I remember the large hands roughly fondling my small breasts. But the thing I remember the most is the tangy smell of Raff the Sweetling's blood as I slit his throat in that dingy room in Braavos before dragging his lifeless body to the canals.

Not exactly the stuff of a girl's romantic dreams.

 _Sansa would have been appalled,_ I thought with a snort.

Soon after, the kindly man sent me to the Merling Queen to train as a courtesan. He said that if I'm going to lure my targets by means of seduction, I might as well do it right. 

And in the months that I served as a _mermaid_ , I learned a great many things. From how to rouge one's cheeks to how to walk and dance and speak in an enticing manner.

But most importantly, I learned about men. And all the different ways I can bend a man to my will.

"Even the most honorable man will bend the knee to a naked woman." The Merling Queen once told me. "Unless of course he's a eunuch or prefers the company of other men."

Well no one can accuse Jon Snow of being a eunuch or preferring the company of other men.

"I need to go." His voice was hoarse.

I stood from the tub, sloshing water to the ground. Goosebumps prickled my skin as my nude body was exposed to the chilly night air.

"I missed you, Jon." I said, pressing my cheek to his. "I missed you so much."

"Arya, I don't think this is..." Jon started to say but I stopped him with a kiss.

It wasn't a sisterly kiss either, but a mermaid's kiss. The way I'd practiced with Amee, one of the other _mermaids_.

Jon did not stop me. Probably, he was too surprised to react. Or maybe his desire has finally won out. Either way, I didn't really care.

I leaned closer, raking a fingernail lightly across his ear. He made a low sound before suddenly breaking contact, his eyes wide with panic.

"This is wrong," he managed to say. "We can't do this, Arya."

"Just hold me..." I murmured against his ear, pressing my hand lightly against his mouth.

I took his hand and led him to sit on the soft pallet that served as my bed during our journey. He buried his head in my hair as I sat on his lap, locking my legs tight around his waist.

I nipped his ear playfully. "Do you think I'm beautiful?"

"Gods, yes... you're so beautiful, Arya."

Jon reached down and slid a finger inside me and started moving it, slowly in and out.

"Please, please..." I whispered, arching into each stroke with a moan.

"What are we doing, little sister?" His eyes were dark as he stared at me, his fingers moving faster, harder.

"I'm yours," I said fiercely, holding his face between my small hands, "as you are mine."

My words seem to have set him on fire. He leaned towards me and covered my lips with his own. I welcomed his tongue, stroking it gently, as our hands wandered over each other's bodies. I held him tightly, my hands moving under his linen shirt to trace the ridges of his back.

It has always been the two of us. Both dark-haired runts growing up amidst beautiful Tully looking children with their auburn hair and easy smiles. Jon had always been my favorite brother, my champion. He understood me in a way that no one else did, not even our father. 

I was on assignment in the Chequy Port when I heard the news of the young Lord Commander of the Night's Watch being murdered. After losing my father and my mother and Robb, I thought nothing could hurt me anymore. I was wrong. 

"Killed by his brothers, they say. Well, what do you expect from thieves and rapists and murderers?" I overheard a sailor say. 

In that instant I became Arya Stark again. And all of her memories came flooding back. Suddenly, I was back in Winterfell, a young man holding out a sword to me, wrapped in grey leather. _Needle!_ we both said at the same time. 

I boarded the first ship bound for Westeros, leaving Cat of the Canals, Blind Beth, Mercy and the Mermaid behind. I had already crafted a plan; get a young boy's face and join the Night's Watch. From there it would be easy enough for me to learn the names of those who betrayed Jon and it would be just as easy to kill them, to slit their throats as they sleep. 

But as _The Maiden_ docked in White Harbor, the port town was abuzz with news of the new King in the North. The bastard son of Ned Stark and former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch has risen from the dead to reclaim Winterfell and the north from his family's enemies. 

_Could you bring back a man without a head?_ I once asked a red priest. _Just the once, not six times._

Maybe the Lord of Light has answered my long-ago prayer after all. My father and my mother and Robb were gone, slain by the Lannisters and the Boltons and the Freys. But Jon was still alive and I didn't feel so empty anymore. 

From White Harbor, I made a stop at the Riverlands to offer Walder Frey's life to the Many-Faced God in exchange for Jon's. And burned the Twins together with the rest of his kin as a sacrifice to the Lord of Light. 

I arrived at Winterfell just two days before I turned five-and-ten. Six years after I left for King's Landing with Father and Sansa. And there stood Jon, looking so much like father with his dark hair and solemn eyes that it nearly broke my heart. 

I couldn't pinpoint exactly when sisterly adoration turned into something deeper, much darker. 

Maybe it was seeing a toddler's head smashed into pieces by a grown man wielding a spiked mace or hearing a helpless young girl being raped by a group of soldiers. 

Or maybe it was murdering a merchant in the name of the Many-Faced God, slitting his throat as he takes his bath and watching as the scented bath water turned red with his blood. 

After everything I have seen and done, loving someone of my own blood doesn't seem such a sin. 

Through the thick fog of desire, I became vaguely aware of footfalls. My years with the Faceless Men have taught me to remain alert at all times. 

I pulled away from Jon and whispered urgently. "Someone's coming..." 

Jon stared back at me, his eyes glazed and unfocused. 

"Listen, someone's coming." I said, giving his cheek a light pinch. "You have to go now." 

But before I could even move out of his lap, the flap of my tent opened and there stood Ser Davos Seaworth, whom Jon named as his Hand. And beside him stood a familiar face, a short man with a grotesquely large head, it was the Imp. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot wait for Jon and Arya to reunite (both in the books and the show). I'm pretty sure Jon will be in for a shock once he sees his "little sister" again. And I just thought it would be fun to see Arya using her seductive charms on Jon. Hope you guys like it :)


	3. Tyrion

The travel from Rook's Rest to the northern shore of the God's Eye took us an extra two days due to the heavy snow. For several days, the wheelhouse bounced on rough patches of road, making it nearly impossible for me to doze off.

 _Thank god for Arbor wine,_ I thought, rubbing my hands together to ward off the chill.

I've yet to become used to the biting cold after a few years spent in the warm climate of Meereen. But despite the bleak weather, it felt good to be home.

"We're almost there," the older man seated across from me said.

Ser Davos Seaworth, born and bred in Flea Bottom and has since served as the Hand of two kings, the late King Stannis Baratheon and now, the newly crowned King in the North.

I turned to look out the window to the snowy landscape and thought back to the last time I saw the bastard Jon Snow. We spent a couple of weeks together, travelling from Winterfell to the Wall.

I remember a quiet young man with Ned Stark's dark hair and grey eyes. He barely said a word during our journey and the only time I saw him smile was when he spoke of his little sister, Arya, asking me to look out for her and keep her out of trouble once I returned to King's Landing.

And now that young man holds half of Westeros in his hands. The north has proclaimed him as their king as well as the Riverlands and the Vale. Even the free folk, known for their disdain towards kneelers, have also pledged their fealty to the new King in the North.

From a distance, I could make out banners flying high, depicting a grey direwolf on a white field. When I fled Westeros three years ago, House Stark was by all accounts dead. The Young Wolf and his mother killed at the Red Wedding, Lady Sansa married to a Lannister, and the younger children lost and assumed to be dead. No one spared a thought to Ned Stark's bastard son.

And now that bastard has risen to become the most powerful man in Westeros.

My lips turned up in a wry smile, I could just imagine Cersei's reaction once the news of Ned Stark's bastard being crowned King in the North reached King's Landing. I pity the man who had to deliver those words to my beloved sister.

Even Daenerys was none too happy when we heard the news soon after we landed on Dragonstone. It was her decision to send me to the God's Eye to meet the King in the North before escorting his court to Dragonstone.

It was already dusk by the time we reached the edge of the northern camp. As I stepped out of the wheelhouse, a familiar face greeted me, a shy smile on his boyish face.

"Pod?"

The young man's eyes lit up. "It's good to see you again, my lord."

"Ser Podrick," Davos said, lightly tapping the young man's shoulder. "Do you know where we can find the king? His Grace has been expecting us two days ago but the weather has slowed down our journey."

 _Ser Podrick?_ I quirked an amused brow at my old squire. _Will wonders never cease?_

Podrick noticed my reaction and flushed, his ears turning bright red. "There was a minor skirmish, my lord. A small band of Lannister forces set upon us just near Harrenhal. His Grace has gone to his sister's tent to see to her."

"Has the lady been hurt?" Davos asked, his voice rough with concern.

"No, my lord," Pod answered swiftly, his voice filled with admiration. "Lady Arya is unhurt. She managed to kill a dozen Lannister men and not even a scratch on her."

 _Could the rumors be true then?_ I had to wonder. It seems Arya Stark is indeed alive and well.

Two months ago, the Twins was burned to the ground during the wedding of my cousin, Ser Daven Lannister to one of Lord Frey's homely daughters. They said the fire started in the kitchen and spread so quickly to the banquet hall that the guests weren't able to escape. No one thought to mention that the main doors were locked from the outside.

The villagers claimed that they saw a young girl with a grey direwolf by her side on the night of the wedding feast. And the rumors were quick to spread, Arya Stark has come back from the dead to avenge the Red Wedding.

After Lord Ramsay Bolton's marriage to a pretender was uncovered, the Lannisters claimed that the real Arya was killed during the massacre in the Red Keep. As such they were quick to rule out the fire as an accident, not wanting the rest of the kingdom to know that Ned's little girl not only managed to elude their grasp for years, but that she single-handedly extinguished the entire Frey line overnight.

But then two days later, Lord Walder Frey's naked body washed up on the shores of the Green Fork, his throat slit from ear to ear and his torso chewed off, by a direwolf if the stories were to be believed.

It was just like my sister to dismiss the bastard son and the plain sister, she has always been about status and appearances. And now those loose ends that Cersei overlooked have come back to haunt her.

I followed Davos towards the center of the encampment, looking forward to seeing Jon Snow after all these years. So much has happened since that time we travelled to the Wall and despite the bad blood between our houses, I would like to believe that he will still look upon me as an old friend.

Davos briskly shoved the canvas flap aside and stopped dead in his tracks.

In the center of the tent, the King in the North sat in a straw pallet, he was fully dressed while a naked woman sat on his lap.

The woman turned and I had a good look at her face. She was a pretty little thing, slim and dark-haired, her pale, near-translucent skin glowing in stark contrast to Jon Snow's dark clothing.

What was it that Podrick said? _His Grace has gone to his sister's tent._

I looked at Davos, who had gone pale and seems to be on the verge of an apoplexy. And then turned back to the couple and it finally struck me just how much they looked alike.

They shared the same dark brown hair and grey eyes, the same slender build and pale skin. Jon Snow sported a neat, close-cropped beard and a faint scar marred his left eye but other than that, they were like a reflection of each other. The male and female version of one person.

 _Just like Jaime and Cersei,_ I thought.

For a minute, none of us spoke a word, or even dared to breathe. We were like a couple of amateur mummers in the middle of a very badly-written play.

"Well, this is quite a welcome," I finally managed to quip.

And just like that the spell was broken. Jon grabbed his cloak from the floor and quickly wrapped it around his, uh, sister's naked body. At the same time that Davos turned his back on them and ushered me outside the tent.

We walked for a minute or so before I cleared my throat, "So I gather you didn't know. About them, I mean."

"They've been inseparable since her return," Davos said, shaking his head. "But from what His Grace has told me, they've always been close growing up. But not like that, or so I thought."

"My brother and sister were close too as children," I said with a sardonic laugh. "And by now the entire kingdom knows how that turned out."

"It's unnatural." His voice was muffled by the biting wind. "I don't know about the highborns but where I come from brother and sister do not bed each other."

"For centuries, Targaryens have married brother and sister," I reminded him. "And as it turns out the Lannisters and the Starks have something in common after all."

"His Grace is not a Targaryen," Davos said, glancing down at me. "So I would ask you, my lord, that what you saw in that tent..."

"You need not worry, Ser Davos." I interjected. "You will find me to be the very soul of discretion regarding this matter."

The other man gave a quick nod.

I continued. "If you must know, I also have a great deal to lose if word gets out about this _particular_ affair."

"My lord?"

"You see, Ser Davos, I'm not just here to visit an old friend or escort you to Dragonstone," I said firmly. "I'm here to broker a marriage between the King in the North and Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, the true heir to the Iron Throne."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is to provide a bit of political background. But things will definitely heat up once they reach Dragonstone next chapter. Still not sure if the next chapter will be from Jon or Arya's perspective. Hope you enjoy reading :)


	4. Arya

We reached Dragonstone after a four day journey on horseback and another day on board a longship. The ancient seat of House Targaryen with its black stone walls and curved towers loomed over Blackwater Bay like a giant dragon. 

The dragon queen was as beautiful as the tales have told with her silver hair and violet eyes and porcelain skin. Standing against the dark fortress, dressed in ivory silk and a matching silver cloak, she seems to glow like moonlight.

Jon greeted her with a courtly bow as both the northern and southern courts look on. A hushed silence settled over the crowd. Everyone was transfixed by the sight of the darkly handsome King in the North meeting the beautiful Dragon Queen.

I wish Sansa could have been here, she would have loved this. _Oh! It’s just like a song._ I could practically hear her say. And even I had to admit that they make a magnificent sight, Jon’s dark masculine looks was the perfect complement to the queen’s delicate beauty.

I’ve heard talks of a marriage to unite the north and south kingdoms. A union that will become the foundation of a great dynasty, one that could rival the one started by Aegon the Conqueror three hundred years ago.

If he weds the Targaryen queen, Jon would rule over the seven kingdoms. He'd be a fool to turn her offer down. 

A low, masculine voice interrupted my thoughts. “Lady Arya?”

I turned around to see a young man with blonde hair and smooth, aquiline features, he was clad in silver armour, a dark purple cloak billowing behind him.

“Ned?” I exclaimed.

The young man smiled with genuine pleasure. “My lady, I never thought to see you again.”

“What, did you think I was dead?” I asked with a teasing smile. 

Ned flushed. “We looked for you everywhere, my lady. Gendry blamed himself, and Harwin too.”

“It was no one else’s fault but mine,” I shook my head. “I was being stupid and got caught by Clegane because of it.”

“Well, it’s good to see you looking so well,” he said, his gaze sweeping over my form with discreet admiration.

 _Good old Ned,_ I thought fondly. _He’d probably run screaming into the night if I tell him what I’ve done the past few years._

“The years have been uncommonly kind,” I said blithely before reaching out to touch the greatsword on his side. “And I see you’ve become the Sword of the Morning.”

“My father was kind enough to bestow me the honor, my lady,” he said, pride evident in his voice.

I looked up at him, smiling. “You wear it well.” 

At that, Ned blushed and stuttered. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Little sister, won’t you introduce me to your friend?”

I looked up to see Jon standing behind me, his brows furrowed. He’s been avoiding me since that night in my tent. If what I’ve told him about my past wasn’t enough to turn him away from me, that little trick I pulled seemed to have done it.

Well, he’s set to marry the most beautiful woman in Westeros who will give him a kingdom and three dragons as her dowry. Why would he settle for his plain sister? He probably just felt sorry for me. His little sister raised by outlaws and assassins.

 _It was a pity kiss._ I thought with disgust.

“Your Grace, this is Ned Dayne, the Lord of Starfall,” I said as Ned went down on one knee in front of Jon. “I met him when I was travelling with the Brotherhood without Banners. He was Lord Beric Dondarrion’s squire then.” I gestured at Ned’s greatsword. “He’s now the Sword of the Morning.”

“Is that what you were doing just now?” Jon raised an eyebrow. “Admiring his sword?”

 _How dare he!_ I thought angrily as I heard poor Ned sucked in a sharp breath beside me.

After days of ignoring me, it seems His Grace finally deigned to acknowledge my existence. He was probably worried I was going to seduce one of his queen’s knights and embarrass myself in front of the southern court.

“You know me, dear brother,” I said in a sweet voice. “I’ve always been fond of… _swords_.”

Jon’s face hardened. “I will leave you to it then.” And with a curt nod towards Ned, he stalked off to join his queen and their advisors at the far end of the room.

The rest of the evening had been interminable, not even Ned’s pleasant company managed to lighten my mood after Jon’s hypocritical attitude.

As I leave the banquet hall, Jon suddenly appeared and fell into a step beside me. “We need to talk,” he said in tight voice, his hand biting into my wrist. 

“Let go of me,” I said, keeping my voice low so as not to draw unwanted attention. 

And as if on cue, Tyrion Lannister came out of the library, a wine glass in hand, and quirked an eyebrow at us. “Retiring so early, Your Grace? I understand the queen has invited a famed singer all the way from Braavos to entertain us for the night. It would be a shame if you miss it.” 

“My little sister is weary after the long journey,” Jon said curtly. “I will escort her to her room and return shortly for the entertainment.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” the small man said with a courteous bow.

As soon as Tyrion walked past us, Jon dragged me inside the library and slammed the door shut.

“What is wrong with you?” I hissed at him, shoving angrily at his chest. 

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing at, little sister,” Jon said tersely, his grey eyes flashing like silver with anger. “But if you think I would just stand by while you seduce young Dayne then you’re mistaken.”

“We were just talking!” I blurted out. “And here I thought I’m the one with a filthy mind.” I turned away from him and walked towards the door, feeling incensed by his baseless accusations. 

I haven’t taken two steps before I was whirled around and found myself being kissed with bruising force. I couldn’t breathe, Jon was kissing me hard. But he tasted so good, as sweet as the candied pear we’ve had for dessert. But when I reached down to rub the bulge in his breeches, he roughly pushed my hand aside.

He pulled away from me, his eyes accusing. “You’ve changed, Arya. I look at you and I don’t see my little sister anymore. And it hurts becaused I loved that little girl with all my heart. I want her back. I want… I want everything to be the same as before.”

“You’ve changed too, Jon.” I said softly. “No matter how much we want to, we couldn’t turn back the hands of time. Everything's changed.”

“But you’re still my sister. And I’m your brother. Nothing can change that.” Jon said, his voice loud with frustration.

A soft knock on the door interrupted them. The door opened slowly and Tyrion’s large head poked through the gap.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” he said. “But I could hear your lovers’ tiff from the hall.” 

We both turned to the other man and said at the same time, “We’re not having a lovers’ tiff.”

“Alright, not a lovers’ tiff then,” the Imp said holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “But may I suggest that you continue your discussion at a more opportune time. The guests have been looking for you, Your Grace.”

“Very well,” Jon acquiesced. “I will follow you shortly.”

Tyrion nodded and softly shut the door.

“This discussion is far from over,” Jon said, sounding exasperated. “In the meantime, can you at least try to keep yourself out of trouble?”

His patronizing tone drew my ire once again. “I’ve been taking care of myself for the past five years, Jon. I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me what to do.”

“Very well, do as you damned well please,” he said angrily, “just like you always do!”

Jon turned away, it was as if he couldn’t even bear to look at me, and left the room, slamming the door with great force.

 _Stupid girl!_ I told myself. _It took you six years to get to Jon and all it took was one night for you to screw things up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always feel like Jon is kinda possessive of Arya in the books. Anyway, I love jealous Jon even though he's still being stubborn about his feelings :)


	5. Davos

Jon Snow had died that cold, cold night at the Wall. I held him as the light slowly dimmed in his eyes. As the blood gushed out of his wounds and his body turned cold. But in the midst of the ruins of Castle Black, Jon Snow was reborn.

The free folk worshipped him like a god, he was the man who broke thousands of years of tradition to save them from certain death. While the north and its allies crowned him king because of the Stark blood that runs through his veins, bastard blood it may be.

They believe him to be the _Prince That Was Promised_ , the chosen one who will lead mankind through the Long Night. Tales of his heroic deeds spread far and wide and everywhere he goes, people look at him with a mixture of fear and awe. But even heroes have their weakness and for Jon Snow that weakness is his sister Arya. 

While most men would kill to marry the Targaryen queen, Jon Snow seemed unaffected by her delicate beauty. To the surprise of his and the queen’s council, he balked at the idea of a marriage between them, insisting that the north seeks an alliance, not a union, with the southern kingdom. 

But when it comes to his sister Arya, the king was anything but unaffected. He practically vibrates with tension whenever his sister was near. And it didn't surprise me when the young Lord Dayne was sent across the Narrow Sea to escort Lord Manderly on his mission to negotiate with the Iron Bank.

A feeling of dread settled at the pit of my stomach as I entered the Chamber of the Painted Table where the war council is in the middle of discussing battle plans. In my hands I carry the news that would most likely turn the tides of war in our favor, but for some reason I feel like I was walking to the gallows.

“The castle is well fortified,” Lord Royce is saying, his entire body hunched over the long table where a map of the entire Westeros was carved and painted on. “Even if we lay siege outside the gates, it might take months. And with Cersei Lannister’s proclivity to wildfire, it would be dangerous to be in King’s Landing for a long period of time.”

There was silence as the members of the war council mulled over their options.

“There is another way,” Arya murmured. “We can attack the Red Keep from the inside.”

“And how do we do that, my lady?” Lord Royce looked at her quizzically.

“There is a passage right here,” Arya said, leaning over to point at the map. “It leads to the dungeons where we can enter the Red Keep with the Lannisters none the wiser.”

“They said only the blood of the dragons know the secrets of these tunnels,” Lord Celtigar pointed out, his face doubtful. “Are you certain you know your way around it?”

“How do you think I escaped King’s Landing years ago, my lord?” she asked dryly. “If not for these tunnels, I would have been killed by the Gold Cloaks or worse, taken prisoner and married to a Lannister.” She quirked a brow towards Tyrion Lannister who was seated across from her. “No offense, my lord.”

Tyrion leaned back in his chair and smiled wryly. “None taken, my lady.”

I took my seat beside the king who was probably unaware that he was gazing at his sister with something akin to longing in his eyes. 

I cleared my throat. “There is some news, Your Grace.”

The king finally managed to tear his eyes from Lady Arya to look at me expectantly.

I placed a missive bearing a gold seal in front of him. “We have received a raven from Highgarden.”

"From the Tyrells?” he asked, surprise evident in his voice. “What does it say?”

“It seems they have severed ties with the Lannisters,” I replied, studiously averting my gaze from the king. “And now they are seeking an alliance with House Stark. They want to marry off their heir, Lord Willas, to your sister in return for their support.”

“I will send for Sansa then,” the king said immediately. “The Tyrells have a powerful army at their command. It would be a good match. I’m sure she won’t object.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Your Grace,” Tyrion spoke with great care. “By virtue of law, she is my wife, Lady Lannister.”

In the silence that followed, I clarified. “Your Grace, the Tyrells are asking for Lady Arya’s hand in marriage.”

The king paled as he finally realized the import of the news, the knuckles of his clenched fists digging into the missive. 

I continued. “With their support, the war will be easily won.”

The king’s eyes immediately went to his sister where she sat in the middle of the long table, her petite frame dwarfed by Lord Umber and Tormund Giantsbane who were seated on either side of her. 

She avoided his gaze and instead turned to look at me, her gaze calculating.

“How many men, Ser Davos?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon, my lady?” I said, confused.

“How many men does the Tyrells have? How many soldiers? How many ships?” she asked again.

“A hundred thousand men, maybe more,” Lord Tully provided. “And two hundred warships.”

“Without the Tyrells, the Lannisters stand no chance against us,” Lord Royce added.

“Very well then,” she said dispassionately, with no hesitation. “I shall marry him.”

The king protested, his jaw clenched. “You do not have to do this, Arya. Even without the Tyrells, our forces outnumber the Lannisters. You do not need to bind yourself to someone you barely know and fifteen years your senior, at that."

“Listen to me, dear brother,” Arya gave a short, mirthless laugh. “I would marry the devil himself if that's what it takes to bring the Lannisters down.”

In the uneasy silence that followed her harsh words, Lord Celtigar tried to defuse the tension. “I’ve known Willas Tyrell since he was a young lad, Your Grace. He is a good man. And he will make the Lady Arya a fine husband.”

But the king and his sister paid no heed to his well-meaning words, their gazes locked in an invisible battle.

Finally, Arya broke the dreadful silence, her voice quiet and laced with steely determination. "They say a Lannister always pays his debts and by the gods, the Starks have come to collect.”

Without taking his eyes off of his sister, the king said firmly. "This council is dismissed."

The members of the war council hurriedly left the room, eager to escape the suffocating tension. And with one last stubborn look thrown her brother’s way, Arya followed them.

I remain seated by the king’s side. “You said it yourself, Your Grace, it is a good match,” I said, gesturing at the letter bearing the Tyrell sigil, still clenched in his fists. “If the match is good enough for one sister, then it should be good enough for the other.”

“Careful, Ser Davos,” the king said as he stood up and walked towards one of the tall windows, his gaze looking out at Blackwater Bay. “I value your counsel but you have no business in matters which concern my sister.”

"We are at war, Your Grace,” I reminded him. "And as the king, I trust you will do what is right for the realm.”

_Twenty years ago, a war started over a prince's love for a Lady Stark and gods help us all, if history ever repeats itself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ned Dayne banished to Essos :P Oh, and Davos is one of my favorite characters. They'll probably be at King's Landing next chapter, or maybe not. Let's see... Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading :)


	6. Tyrion

For a man assured of an easy victory, the king didn’t look happy. He has been in the blackest of moods since the Tyrells arrived at Dragonstone with their army and a shipload of supplies, their warships joining the Greyjoy fleet at Blackwater Bay.

Everyone knows that without the Tyrells, the Lannisters are doomed. Everyone except my beloved sister, that is. Our late father would be turning over in his grave if he could see how Cersei has quickly laid to waste all his years of plotting and seeking alliances for the benefit of House Lannister.

The king was seated at a long table on the dais with Queen Daenerys on his one side and the newly betrothed couple on the other. The king and his sister sat side by side, their elbows nearly touching, studiously avoiding one another’s gaze.

If they were any other couple, I would have been amused, even touched, by their obvious longing for each other. But as the Hand of the Queen, the king’s unnatural devotion to his younger sister is problematic at best, disastrous at worst.

Despite the north’s pledge of support to her cause, Daenerys wanted a united Westeros to rule over. And she felt that the most expedient way to achieve that is to marry the King in the North. But how can I convince Jon Snow to marry the queen when he was so clearly besotted with his sister?

Garlan and Loras Tyrell approached their brother and his betrothed, welcoming her to their family. Arya said something that made the three Tyrell men burst out laughing. The king, however, sat stony-faced and silent beside her. 

“She looks so much like her aunt,” Ser Barristan Selmy observed, looking at Arya, as she stood up to dance with Ser Loras. “She has that same wild beauty about her.”

 _Ah, the legend that is Lyanna Stark,_ I thought. I’ve never met Lyanna Stark but I’ve heard the songs about her, about how Prince Rhaegar and Robert Baratheon waged a war for her hand. _Not exactly a comforting thought._

The once scrawny little girl I remember from that long ago feast in Winterfell had blossomed into a beauty. Like the Targaryen queen, she had an ethereal quality about her. Looking at her petite frame one would not believe the stories about her prowess in the battle field, but even the north's most fearsome warriors hold her in high regard.

In a grey silk dress that hugged her slender curves with her dark hair loose and unbound, she looked young and wild and so very, very beautiful. Her only adornment was a lone dagger slung on her right hip, its hilt etched with the figure of a direwolf.

Men stared at her in fascination, with a mixture of fear and desire, the latter of which they were quick to hide from the king lest they find themselves shipped off across the Narrow Sea on a sudden _mission_.

“It would appear congratulations are in order, my lady,” I walked over to stand next to her. “Willas Tyrell is a kind, intelligent man. And handsome too. He’s considered to be the best catch in Westeros, next to your brother of course.”

“I’m not going to marry him for his looks or wit, my lord. I’m going to marry him for his one hundred thousand soldiers and two hundred ships.” She looked down at me, her voice quiet. “I’m going to marry him to ensure the fall of House Lannister.”

“My lady, I know I couldn’t even begin to apologize for…” I began.

“There’s no need to apologize, Lord Tyrion,” she cut me off, a knowing smile curved her lips. “In fact, I’m grateful to you.”

At my questioning look, she continued. “For killing your father.”

 _Well, she couldn’t be more straightforward than that,_ I thought, suddenly regretting the impulse that led me to approach Lady Arya. It seems that her ability to draw blood is not limited only to the battle field.

And just when I thought she couldn’t surprise me more, she added. “You remind me of him, you know. Lord Tywin, I mean.”

“You’ve met my father?” I asked, stupefied.

She shrugged. “I served him at Harrenhal, as his cupbearer. Of course, he didn’t know who I was. He thought I was just an orphan girl.”

I was dumbstruck. I remember when my father arrived at King’s Landing from Harrenhal, how he ranted and raved upon learning that the younger Stark girl managed to escape. And that time she was just there, right under his nose. 

She seemed not to notice my silence. “He told me that I reminded him of his daughter." She wrinkled her nose at that, disgust at being compared to Cersei evident in her face. “He talked about his son, said he was the finest knight in the realm. But he never mentioned you.”

That stung. Even after having killed him with my own hands, it seems that a part of me will always seek my father’s approval. “My father wasn’t fond of me. They say all dwarfs are bastards in their father’s eyes.”

“He’s stupid then,” Arya said bluntly. “From what my sister has told me, you have more brains than the rest of your family combined. House Lannister would have been better off if your father named you as his heir.” Then she smiled faintly, her eyes drifting towards her brother. “Besides I’ve always been fond of bastards.”

I followed her gaze to see the king staring daggers at me. “I should escort you back to your seat, my lady. It seems that your brother doesn’t take kindly to other men taking too much of your attention.”

“You do not need to play coy, Lord Tyrion,” she leaned towards me, her voice lowered. “You saw us in my tent that night you arrived in our camp, didn't you?”

I cleared my throat. “I assure you, my lady, you have my full discretion on that matter."

"I would marry Lord Tyrell," she said simply. "But I would never belong to him just as Jon would never belong to your queen even if you somehow manage to convince him to marry her. We belong with each other, we always have." 

_By the gods, she sounds exactly like Cersei,_ I thought grimly. 

She looked at me, a wry smile on her lips. "You looked surprised, my lord? I thought you, of all people, would understand."

I shook my head. “Most will not understand, my lady. In the eyes of gods and men alike, you both share the same blood. It will only undermine your brother’s rule if it becomes common knowledge.”

“More’s the pity,” she said with an impish grin. “Gods, how I envy the Targaryens!”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that as we walked back to the dais. “It was a pleasure talking to you, my lady.” I took her hand and kissed it, ignoring the way the king stiffened in his seat, casting a dark glare at me.

She gave me a wink. “I hope you found it... enlightening, my lord.”

I grinned at her, thoroughly charmed. “Very much so, my lady.” 

I looked back at Arya as she sat beside her brother, their fingers within a hair’s breadth of each other.

If what Ser Barristan said is true, then I could finally understand those songs. I could finally understand how Prince Rhaegar tore the entire realm apart for the love of Lady Lyanna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a nod to George's original outline about the Jon-Arya-Tyrion love triangle. I don't see Tyrion/Arya happening in the future books but I just thought it would be fun to have them interact. And I really love the Tyrells, too bad Willas and Garlan were cut from the show, oh well. Hope you guys like this!
> 
> Next chapter is probably gonna be Jon/Dany, let me know your thoughts about this :)


	7. Davos

In all my travels, I’ve never met anyone quite like Arya Stark. She was an enigma. A young girl that looks like a beautiful courtesan, talks like a bawdy sailor, and kills like a hardened criminal. 

Small and slim, she looked like a mere child, even younger than her age. She exudes a certain youthful vigor, quick and agile. But she has the eyes of an old, wizened woman. There was a darkness in those stormy eyes, a deep pain lurking just beneath the surface.

We were standing at the port of Dragonstone, a small fishing vessel waiting to take us to King’s Landing where we will enter the Red Keep through a hidden passage built in the city’s sewers. From there we are to open the castle gates from the inside once the northern and southern armies march on to the city.

Arya insisted that she will only take the Brotherhood without Banners. She needed men that won’t be recognized by the lords and knights in the castle, men that could pass off as ordinary foot soldiers.

The king agreed upon the condition that I should go with them. He bid me to keep an eye on his sister and ensure that she won’t take any unnecessary risks. The unspoken command being to keep her safe _no matter what_.

She was leaning against the fishing boat, sharpening the edge of her dagger with a whetstone. There was a restless energy about her. A sense of excitement. An excitement that is clearly not shared by the king. 

“Ser Davos, once the castle has been breached…” the king started to say, gesturing towards his sister.

“… you shall take Lady Arya into the dungeons and stay there until the fighting ends,” Arya continued, doing a rather good impression of her brother’s gruff voice. “You’ve said it already so many times I can hear it in my sleep. I bet Ser Davos does too.”

The king sighed. “I keep repeating it because I can tell you’re not taking it seriously.”

“No, Jon, it’s you who’s not taking me seriously,” she said quietly. “I know what I’m doing, I’ll be fine.”

He ignored her and turned to me. “If she tries anything rash, knock her out, you have my permission.”

“I’m right here, Jon,” Arya said, rolling her eyes. “I can hear you.”

“Good,” he said gruffly, taking her by the shoulders and giving her a little shake. “Then maybe you would finally listen. I’m not going to lose you Arya, not again.”

Her face softened and she reached out a hand to touch her brother’s cheek. “Don’t worry about me. It’s nothing that I haven’t done before.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he asked, his face grim. "Because it just made me feel a lot worse."

In a rare show of emotion, Arya reached out and gave him a hug. She was so much smaller than her brother that she had to stand on tiptoe in order to press her cheek against his neck. “Did anyone ever tell you that you worry too much, Jon? You’ll likely get old before your time.”

“Did anyone ever tell you how stubborn you are?” he asked. His voice low and terse.

Arya nodded, her voice sheepish. “All the time.”

The king closed his eyes, squeezing her tightly against his body. “You are going to be the death of me.”

“Let go, you stupid,” she said, giggling. “I can’t breathe.”

The king only laughed and shook his head, squeezing her even tighter.

And for a moment, the war seems to have been forgotten. I had a brief glimpse of them growing up as children in the safety of Winterfell before everything went to hell. When their relationship was not yet tainted by war and suffering and death. When they were just brother and sister to each other.

I cleared my throat, feeling uneasy about witnessing such a private moment. “Your Grace, we need to depart if we are to reach King’s Landing before sunrise.”

He pressed a gentle kiss on top of her head and reluctantly let her go. “Be safe, little sister.” Then he turned to look at me. “I will see you in King’s Landing in a fortnight, Ser Davos. And I expect to see my sister in one piece, in the relative safety of the dungeons.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.” There was nothing else I can say to that.

I stood at the stern beside Arya, looking out at Dragonstone as the fishing boat slowly departed. The king stood in the middle of the dock, surrounded by his guards, looking grim. Even from afar I could see the worry etched on his forehead. 

I turned towards his sister to see her smiling at me. And then slowly, very slowly she passed a hand down her face and before my very eyes turned into someone else. A young boy with brown hair and a smattering of freckles on his cheeks now stood in front of me instead of the king's sister. 

_What in the seven hells?!_

But then the young boy spoke and he sounded exactly like her, the same mellifluous voice and matter-of-fact tone. 

“Ser Davos, I have a plan…” 

__________

 _The king is going to kill me_ , I thought. _He's going to have me drawn and quartered and flayed_. 

It took us a day to find our way from the tunnel hidden in the city’s sewers to a secret doorway which leads to Maegor’s Holdfast, right at the heart of the Red Keep. 

For two days, the king’s sister entered the Red Keep disguised as a young stable boy, scouting the area and bringing food and supplies back to the dungeons. But now she’s back to looking like the _real_ Arya Stark, wearing a roughspun and nearly threadbare dress which she managed to pilfer from a scullery maid.

She sat on the stone floor, her eyes closed as she stroked a one-eared black tomcat, a feral beast which she found in the sewers. “If we are going to access the castle gates, we need to get our hands on some Lannister armor.”

Harwin, a stocky man with a northern accent, frowned, “It’s easy to carry around bread and cheese from the kitchens to here, but armor? How are we to do that, milady.”

Arya chewed her lip and said nothing, but I could practically hear her mind working. _Scheming._

Slowly, she reached up and took off the pins on her hair, running her hands through the silky strands. And then she loosened the laces on her wool dress, revealing the swell of her firm breasts. She looked like a kitchen wench. A _wanton_ kitchen wench.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, my lady, I don’t think this is a good idea. Maybe one of us can go instead.”

“I don’t think Lem or Harwin would look good in a dress,” she said with a smirk. “Just wait right here. Don’t move. I’ll be back in an hour, maybe two.” 

She set the black tomcat on the floor and watched as it padded up the stone staircase and disappeared behind the hidden door. And then she followed. 

Seconds passed by then minutes turned into an hour, I stood there, huddled in the dark, thinking of all the ways the king would kill me when he arrives at King’s Landing and finds out that I let his beloved sister wander around the Red Keep, alone, looking like a Gin Alley prostitute. 

“What’s taking her so long?” one of the men muttered.

Harwin looked at the door where Arya disappeared an hour ago, his voice quiet. “She’ll be back.”

“How do you know that?” Lem, a tall, broad-shouldered man, asked.

“I’ve known her since she was a child,” Harwin said thoughtfully. “Trust me, when Arya Underfoot wants something, she’s going to get it and woe betide anyone who stands in her way.”

So I waited and waited and waited. And just when I was considering going out to look for her, I heard the sound of a giggle and Arya appeared around the corner, leading a soldier in crimson and gold Lannister armor in hand.

“We have to be quiet, m’lord,” she said softly, steering him towards the hidden doorway. “The cook will be looking for me.”

Beneath his gold helm, the young soldier smirked. “Well, I can’t promise that you…”

But the soldier did not get to finish his words. As soon as he stepped into the shadows, just a few feet from where we were standing, Arya reached out to grab both sides of his head and twisted, hard. She shoved the body through the narrow passage and continued walking. Lem caught the body, right before it hits the stone floor. 

No noise, no blood, no nothing. I felt a shiver run down my spine. 

She continued walking down the empty corridor, her steps not faltering. There was nothing to indicate that she just killed a grown man in cold blood. Then just before she turned a corner, she slowly held up an index finger behind her back. 

_One_. 

I looked at the soldier’s lifeless body slumped in the shadows, his neck lay sideways at an odd angle, his eyes wide open in surprise, his mouth gaping in a silent scream. 

_The king's sister is fucking mad!_ I thought frantically. 

By nightfall, we were all clad in crimson and gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised a Jon/Dany interaction this chapter, but I started writing and just thought that it fits better to tell it from Davos' POV. I'm still working on that Jon/Dany POV as promised. Anyway, Arya being such a badass is ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> I can't wait for S7 when Arya comes back to Westeros and kicks some serious ass. _Valar Morghulis_ and all that.
> 
> Your comments are much appreciated. Let me know your thoughts!


	8. Jon

I was back in Castle Black. The air was permeated with the smell of smoke. From afar I could see Mole’s Town burning. Part of the castle had been destroyed, and the common hall was burned to the ground.

I walked past bodies of men, wildings and black brothers alike. Looking for someone, looking for _her_. 

I found Ygritte beneath the Lord Commander’s Tower, lying in a pool of her own blood, an arrow sticking out of her chest. As I knelt down beside her, her eyes opened. They were grey instead of blue.

It was Arya.

 _No_ , I thought, shaking my head. _I’m in King’s Landing, not Castle Black_. 

As the council had anticipated, the battle was quickly won. Our men outnumbered the Lannisters at least four to one. Even the wildfire explosion at the foot of Aegon’s High Hill did little to deter our attack.

The Blackfish and Greatjon Umber led synchronized attacks through the Iron Gate and River Gate, both of which were opened by the Brotherhood without Banners from the inside. While I led another faction inside the Red Keep through the secret passages that Arya was privy to.

Garlan Tyrell together with Asha Greyjoy and the newly legitimised Lord of Storm’s End soundly defeated the royal fleet at Blackwater Bay. From the Red Keep I could still see the smoke rising from the charred remains of the lion-crested enemy ships. 

In the sky, a flock of crows rose from the black water, circling above the Red Keep. 

“Welcome to your kingdom, Your Grace,” Tyrion Lannister said as we entered the holdfast.

I gazed at the pale red stone walls of the castle. “My kingdom is in the north.” 

He grinned. “Well, it could be your kingdom if you would only marry the queen.”

I couldn't help but laugh at the Imp's persistence.

I would be lying if I said that I had not been tempted by the queen’s offer. Robb was crowned King in the North similar to our father’s forebears. Still, the bastard son of House Stark becoming the King of the Seven Kingdoms?

But marrying Daenerys Targaryen would undo everything that the north has fought for since they crowned Robb as their king. Like the land they lived in, the northerners are fierce and savage people. They hungered for their independence. Thousands have died for it. It is my duty to make certain that those men did not die in vain.

Besides there’s that _thing_ with Arya. It had taken one kiss for everything to change. I could not stop replaying that night in her tent on my mind, over and over again. At night, I dreamed of her. I dreamed of pale skin and dark hair, seductive words and soft moans. In my dreams, she is not my little sister. But a siren. A beautiful witch sent to torment me and lure me to commit the gravest of sins. 

The thing between us has to end. I kept telling myself that I had to stay away from Arya but every day it felt like I was fighting a losing battle. I knew we could never marry and I would not dishonor Arya by taking her as a mistress.

There is also the matter of her betrothal with Willas Tyrell. The heir to Highgarden was an amiable man, soft-spoken and mild-mannered. He will treat Arya kindly, that much is clear. But fury and jealousy raced through my veins at the image of Arya in his arms.

When Lord Tyrell approached me just before I left Dragonstone to say that the wedding will take place in King’s Landing as soon as the battle is over, I could barely keep myself from wrapping my hands around his neck and squeezing tight. The man seems to be in a haste to wed Arya.

 _Or bed her, most likely_. I thought, a bitter taste forming in my mouth. _The man's a cripple, not a eunuch_.

I pictured her as she was the night of her betrothal feast, wearing a silk dress that hugged her slender curves and a silver dagger strapped on her waist. _Oh yes_ , I could understand why Willas Tyrell could not even wait until they get back to Highgarden to bed her. 

Ser Davos stood just outside the throne room together with the Brotherhood without Banners. Before I could ask her where my sister is, he looked at me gravely and said. “Cersei Lannister is dead, Your Grace.”

“One of our men?” I asked immediately.

He shook his head. “It was her brother.” He then noticed Tyrion Lannister and cleared his throat. “Her other brother. Her twin.”

Harwin opened the heavy oak doors and ushered me inside the throne room. 

Sitting on the Iron Throne is Cersei Lannister, her body limp and her golden blonde hair matted in blood. She had grown a bit plump since the last time I saw her but even in death, she was beautiful. Her face still unlined, her features delicate. In her lap was a golden crown encrusted with emeralds that sparkled in the dim light.

At the foot of the throne stood her twin holding a bloody sword in his hand. I remember thinking that he looked like what a king should be when Jaime Lannister rode into Winterfell in his golden armor, his golden hair flowing to his shoulders and his chin raised in arrogance. He seemed to have aged two decades in the past five years. He was much thinner and there were harsh lines etched on his face. 

Jaime turned towards his younger brother and said in a quiet tone. “The things I do for love.”

 _A broken man_ , I thought, looking at him in pity. _What would it do to a man to put a sword through the heart of the person he loved most?_

His sister. His lover.

Suddenly, I wanted to see Arya. I needed to hold her in my arms where she belongs. It was all mixed up inside me, the need to protect her from harm like any brother would do to his sister and the desire to have her in my bed like any man would do to a woman. 

It seems that I am no better than Jaime Lannister. 

“Where is Arya?” I asked Ser Davos. 

I was surprised to see the usually unflappable Ser Davos flush slightly. “Your Grace, I… I don’t know how to say this… but I lost her. I don’t know where she is, I don’t even know what she looks like anymore.” 

At my silence, Ser Davos continued, his brows furrowed. “I hope you do not take this wrongly, Your Grace, but I would rather travel to Asshai to look for dragon eggs than guard your lady sister.” He wiped a hand across his forehead. “I tried, I really did. But by the third day I’ve given up. There is no stopping the lady once she is of a mind to do something.”

I could just imagine what Arya has made the poor man went through in the past weeks. He actually looks a bit traumatised. “You do not have to explain, Ser Davos. I know my sister.”

 _That stubborn girl!_ I thought angrily. _How was I supposed to protect her when she seems hell-bent on putting herself in danger at every opportunity_.

 _Because she doesn't need you anymore,_ a voice inside me seemed to whisper. _It's too late, you're too late._

Harwin approached me and said, "I passed Lady Arya an hour or so earlier,Your Grace. She was heading towards the Tower of the Hand."

I gave him a grateful nod. "Take Jaime Lannister to the dungeons with the other prisoners. The Night's Watch would need more men."

I then turned and walked briskly from the throne room to find Arya. The words of Jaime Lannister ringing in my head.

_The things I do for love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jon! He's really torn about his feelings towards Arya. I think because he's more of a rule follower than Arya. Also, the new Lord of Storm's End might make an appearance soon. What do you guys think about that?


	9. Arya

Ser Gregor… Dunsen… Polliver… Raff the Sweetling… The Tickler… Ser Ilyn… Ser Meryn… King Joffrey… Queen Cersei…

_Valar Morghulis._

They were all dead now. There were no more names to pray for. 

For five years my prayer was the only thing that made me get up each day when all I wanted to do was curl up and die. Those names held me together when I was about to fall apart. It was the only thing that remained of me after the Lannisters took everything away. 

Now even that is gone. Even that has been taken away from me. 

The realization made something inside me dropped away, leaving me empty. And for the first time since I could remember I began to cry. It was as if a dam broke and all the pain and anger and loneliness of the past few years came to the surface. 

They were ugly tears, messy ones. I trembled all over and my body shook with the intensity of my sobs. I pressed my hands to my eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears, but still it didn’t work. The tears just continued to flow, running down my cheeks, and soaking the front of my linen dress. 

I don’t know how long I sat there, huddled in the steep and narrow stairway leading to the Tower of the Hand where I used to live with father and Sansa and Septa Mordane and the rest of my father’s men-at-arms back when father was the Hand of King Robert. They’re all gone now, leaving me alone. 

It was the lone wolf who survived, after all.

Suddenly, Jon was there. He took me in his arms, holding me, his face creased with worry. And I clung to him as tightly as I could. For Jon was the only person that was keeping me tethered into this world and without him to hold on to, I would probably just drift away into oblivion."

I wanted to tell him about the time I heard of his death back in Braavos. How I sunk on my knees in the middle of the cobblestoned streets, my eyes blurring with unshed tears.

I wanted to tell him about the night I arrived at the Twins and saw Robb’s decapitated body being paraded around with Grey Wind’s head sewn on his neck. How close I was to being with Robb and mother again, so _fucking_ close.

I wanted to tell him how I stood atop the statue of Baelor as Joffrey ordered Ser Ilyn to cut off father’s head. How I could still hear the crowd cheering every time I close my eyes at night.

But there were no words, only tears. 

Then Jon suddenly spoke, his voice a near whisper. “I died for you.”

I looked up at him in surprise. He never talked about it, about the night he died, murdered by his own brothers. And I never asked. He has his own secrets, just like I have mine. 

“You see, there was a letter, it said that you were married to Ramsay Bolton,” he murmured, pulling me even closer to his chest. “And the thought of you in that bastard’s bed… it nearly drove me mad.”

“I was going to ride south to Winterfell to get you,” he confessed, his voice solemn. “I broke my vows, that’s why they stabbed me.”

He paused for a moment. “I know you think I prize honor above all else but you’re mistaken, I’ve forsaken my honor for you.” He looked at me, smiling faintly. “I just thought you should know.”

We remained silent for a long time, both of us lost in our own thoughts. 

_I died for you_. The import of his words slowly sinking in, filling the aching void inside of me. 

Gently, Jon Snow pressed his lips to mine. And suddenly we were kissing, his tongue in my mouth, both his arms wrapped around my body, holding me close. He murmured my name again and again as his lips slowly drifted along my neck. 

“Do you love me?” he whispered in my ears. 

I nodded, tracing a finger along his familiar face, so similar to my own.

" _Say it._ "

“I love you, Jon Snow. Always have, always will.”

I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling his hardness pressed against my abdomen. His eyelids fluttered when I rubbed myself against his breeches while he reached down to slide a finger inside my linen dress, his large hands finding me already wet.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop…” I murmured as I kissed him deeply, his fingers moving faster and harder inside of me. “It’s so good, it feels so good.”

Jon suddenly got up and pulled me against his chest. I couldn’t tell what he had in mind as he just stood there, holding me in his arms as if I were a mere child. For a moment, I was afraid he would change his mind and leave. But then he headed towards the empty hall and kicked open the door to a small bedchamber.

We stumbled against a wooden table and he roughly pushed me on top of it. He quickly unbuttoned my dress, his large hands wrapping almost entirely around my slender waist. I sucked in my breath when he leaned down and drew a pink nipple in his mouth. He kept rubbing his beard roughly across my breasts, leaving small, red welts. 

“Jon, hurry,” I moaned, just as he switched to suckle my other nipple. “Please, I need you now.”

I gasped as he pushed his cock inside me while still sucking on my nipple. I looked at Jon and saw him watching me intently. His mouth open, he was breathing heavily.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, reaching out to stroke my hair.

“Oh god, you feel so good,” I groaned, feeling an incredible fullness inside of me. 

I leaned back, my arms braced against the table trying to keep my balance as he fucked me, hard. He grabbed my legs and moved them higher around his waist and started pumping so hard that the table repeatedly slammed against the wall.

He reached out for both breasts and squeezed them roughly as he continued to push in and out of me. And I pulled him towards me, his breath hot as I kissed him, sucking his tongue.

 _Who would have thought that quiet and solemn-faced Jon Snow would be this wicked in bed?_ I thought as he lifted my legs even higher and slipped a finger inside my arse making me gasp and arch my back. 

He lowered his head to kiss me at the exact moment I burst around his cock. He continued to pump inside of me as I moaned through every wave of pleasure, cradling his head against my breasts as he spilled himself inside me. 

In the moments after, as my senses slowly returned after the numbing pleasure, I thought I might try to tell him again how much I love him but I had no idea how to say it, so I just closed my eyes and kept quiet. 

“Well, say something,” Jon gave a nervous laugh. “I don’t think you’ve ever been this quiet before.”

“Just hold me,” I finally breathed, my eyes still closed. 

And he did. He held me tightly, his fingers moving across my back as if somehow he could erase the past with his touch. Just like he used to back in Winterfell when I would wake up from a nightmare and come running to his room for comfort. Jon was the only one who could make the monsters go away.

Everything was so simple back then. There was father, who used to look the other way whenever I sneaked out of my needle lessons. There was mother, who used to brush my tangled hair and rub salve on my scraped knees. Robb, who would sneak me an extra blackberry tart just before I went to bed. Bran and Rickon, my little brothers, who used to cling to my hands when Old Nan would tell stories about the creatures that lived beyond the Wall. 

But life isn’t so simple anymore. If there is one thing that I learned from my years with the Faceless Men, it is that life is neither black nor white, but instead it is painted in varying shades of grey.

Slowly, I opened my eyes, my body entwined with Jon’s. From the small window, I could hear a cacophony of noises. I looked around and noticed that the room seems familiar somehow. The tiny window overlooking the courtyard and the narrow bed which was carved with vines and leaves and flowers.

Suddenly I let out a loud guffaw.

Jon turned and quirked an eyebrow at me. “What’s so funny?”

“This room…” I managed to gasp out, my shoulders shaking with mirth. “It’s Septa Mordane’s room!”

The look of utter horror in Jon’s face made me laugh even more. “Can you imagine if she could see us now?” I said before bursting into laughter again, even harder than before.

“That’s not funny, Arya.” Jon tried to look stern but he didn’t quite manage it and his lips quirked in amusement. 

And for a moment, it was just me and Jon. In that little room, in our own little world. Just the two of us, as it has always been. _As it should always be_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think a lot of people tend to gloss over the fact that Jon broke his vows for Arya. He literally _died_ for her, people!
> 
> Also, I think Arya's due a little breakdown. Poor girl's been tough for far too long already. And I'm just glad Jon is there to hold her.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading! Not yet sure what the next chapter is gonna be about so your thoughts will be much appreciated ;)


	10. Willas

The king sat at the head of the long table together with the small council, discussing the supplies needed on the journey north. Now that the Lannisters and their allies have been defeated, it is time to face the danger from beyond the Wall. 

The southern allies were initially doubtful about the threat of the Others, dismissing it as folklore but the cage full of wights which were transported from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to King’s Landing was enough to turn their opinions. 

It was clear that the real danger is in the north and if the north falls, the south won’t stand a chance against the Others. _No one is safe._

Jon Snow turned to Ser Davos Seaworth and a purpling bruise became visible on the left side of his neck, just beneath his jaw. 

_The mark of the she-wolf_. I thought wryly.

The bond between the king and his sister goes beyond familial love. That much is obvious. 

It was in the way his eyes would linger on her whenever they are on the same room, his dark eyes glimmering with desire. It was in the way her guarded expression would soften when she looks at him, her lips curving into a gentle smile. 

I noticed that he would flush a deep scarlet whenever she would call him “dear brother” in a teasing tone, her eyes bright with mischief. And how he had started calling her Arya instead of “little sister” as if he couldn’t bear to be reminded of their blood ties.

They were two people locked in an intricate dance to which only they know the steps, only they hear the music.

There were whispers, of course, about the king’s closeness to his younger sister. Their unnatural devotion to each other. How it seems that the king always have his sister within his reach, as if an invisible string binds them together.

But most seemed to turn a blind eye to the king's affair. Jon Snow was the _Prince That Was Promised_. And people were loathe to taint the image of the infallible King in the North, particularly with the same taint that led to the ruin of House Lannister. 

And that is why I need to marry Arya Stark soon and send her to the relative safety of Highgarden away from her brother before the whispers become loud enough to reach the ears of the crown's enemies. 

I'm not so foolish as to think that our marriage is anything but a political alliance. But maybe in Highgarden, she would find some semblance of peace. And we could build a marriage out of friendship and mutual respect.

The hour was late and the small council filed out of the Great Hall escorted by the Kingsguard. We walked along the corridor leading to Maegor’s Holdfast, still discussing the logistics of the coming month-long journey north.

As we neared the winding staircase which leads to the royal chambers, a black cat streaked past us and quickly disappeared down the dimly lit passage.

“Come back here, you black bastard!”

Arya came dashing down the stairs, her giant direwolf close behind. She paused to catch a breath as she reached the end of the staircase, still unaware of the council’s presence.

She was barefoot and wearing a linen nightgown, the torch lights silhouetting her slender body and pert and upturned breasts. She bent to pet her direwolf and the movement pulled the thin well-worn fabric tight across her chest, outlining the pale pink tips of her breasts.

I felt my cock stir in arousal. And as I looked around at the other members of the small council and the Kingsguard, I saw the same degree of arousal reflected in their eyes. In that moment she was not the king’s beloved sister but a beautiful siren come to tempt us in the dark. 

I was a young boy during the tourney at Harrenhal but I clearly remember the moment Prince Rhaegar crowned Lady Lyanna as the Queen of Love and Beauty. Not only does Arya have the same fine, subtle beauty as her aunt, but she also had that same elusive quality about her, that artless sensuality that drew men to her like moths to a flame. 

The king was the first to break out of the haze, he was suddenly standing in front of his sister, blocking her from our view. “What are you doing out so late?” he said, his voice stern but his cheeks were stained with a telltale flush.

“I was already in bed, waiting for …” Arya began.

Ser Davos quickly interrupted her. “It’s quite late, Your Grace. We will bid you and the Lady Arya a good night then.”

As the Hand of the King ushered the rest of us out of the royal chambers, I looked back to see the king and his sister walk up the staircase, together. He was carrying her like a little child, her arms clinging tightly on his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist. Arya laid her head against her brother’s shoulder as he bent down to press a light kiss on her forehead. 

From afar, it seemed innocent enough, just an older brother caring for his sister. But if you looked just a bit closer, there was nothing brotherly about the way he was holding her, his hand loosely cupping her right breast and his mouth lingering on her ear.

Garlan stepped beside me, he was also staring at the king and his sister. “I think you better start planning that wedding quickly, brother.”

__________

The following morning, I entered the solar where our family usually partake the morning meal and was surprised to see Arya seated beside my grandmother. Across from them was Garlan and his lady wife, Leonette, and my sister Margaery. 

Amongst the vibrant greens and golds, Arya stood out with her pale skin and dark hair, like a wolf amongst a string of well-bred horses.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Willas,” my grandmother said, gesturing at an empty chair on the other side of Arya. “Your betrothed has been kind enough to grace us with her presence this morning.”

 _She knows_. I thought, looking at Garlan accusingly. 

He looked back at me and shrugged. 

“We were talking about your wedding,” Leonette said, her eyes bright with excitement. “Lady Arya is just telling us that she adores flowers. I think we should have roses from Highgarden shipped here in time for the wedding.”

“I'm certain the flowers here at King’s Landing will do just fine, my lady,” Arya said, taking a sip of her tea. “I’ve already talked to Lord Manderly and have told him to keep the cost at a minimum.” 

“But you’d only be married once in your life,” Leonette protested. “And the roses at Highgarden are simply…”

“It’s alright, Leonette,” my grandmother interrupted, reaching out to give her a gentle pat on her hand. “Lady Arya will see the roses at Highgarden soon enough once she travels home with us after the wedding.”

Arya quirked an eyebrow at my grandmother. “I won’t be going to Highgarden, my lady. After the wedding, I will travel north to prepare for the fight against the Others.”

“There are enough men to fight against those infernal creatures,” my grandmother insisted. “You will be coming with us to your new home.”

“You’d love it in Highgarden,” Margaery said quickly. “There’s a field of golden roses just outside the castle, as far as the eyes can see.”

“My home is in the north,” Arya said firmly. “I will wed Lord Willas as agreed upon but I belong in Winterfell…”

“With your brother you mean?” my grandmother queried, her shrewd eyes narrowed.

“Grandmother…” I said, giving her a warning look.

“Oh hush, Willas,” she said, flicking a gaunt hand in the air. She then turned towards Arya and asked, “May I speak frankly with you, my dear?” And without waiting for a response, she continued. “There are rumors going around about you and your brother, His Grace. Rumors of the foulest kind. The kind of rumors that led to the fall of your enemies.”

“Targaryen kings married their sisters and both King Joffrey and King Tommen were the sons of Queen Cersei and her brother,” Arya leveled my grandmother with a direct stare. “I guess you could say we’re just continuing the royal tradition.”

That silenced the room. I looked at Margaery and Leonette who had both gone pale while Garlan was looking at my betrothed with a frown.

My grandmother quickly regained her wits and said, “That’s not funny, child.”

“I wasn’t being funny, my lady.”

Even though I already had an inkling of her relationship with her brother, to hear her speak so frankly about it was startling. And by the looks on my grandmother and siblings’ faces, they felt exactly the same.

“What is it with this kind of madness?” my grandmother snapped. “Fools the both of you!”

“Grandmother, that’s enough.” I said sharply.

“May I speak frankly with you, my lady?” Arya returned. “You aligned yourself to the Baratheons when they were in power. Then to the Lannisters. And now here you are, pledged to the Starks and the Targaryens.”

At my grandmother’s gasp of outrage, Arya quickly said. “I don’t mean it to be offensive, my lady. I actually admire you, for having the wits to play the game, to ensure your family’s survival.” She looked at us with a wistful smile. “If our family played the game half as good as you did maybe my brothers would still be alive. Maybe Sansa wouldn’t be married to a Lannister. Maybe I wouldn’t have done ... the things that I’ve done.”

 _The things that I’ve done_. There was a wealth of meaning in those words. And as I looked at the young woman beside me, the woman that would share my life and someday bear my children, I felt my skin prickle with unease.

“You know how to play this game but if you think you can play against my brother and win, you're mistaken,” Arya continued, rising to her feet. “I respect you, my lady, but tread carefully. If you dare to raise a finger against Jon, I would break your house apart from root to stem.” 

With a polite nod, she walked out of the solar with her direwolf in tow. 

And for the first time, it seems that the formidable Queen of Thorns is at a loss for words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little insight into Jon and Arya's relationship from a third-party pov. And I really love the parallel between Arya and Lyanna; I love how GRRM kept comparing them throughout the books. 
> 
> She's Lyanna's mini-me but hopefully she will have a much happier ending with her own Targaryen prince.
> 
> And I also love the interaction between her and Lady Olenna. I thought it was fun to see the Queen of Thorns meet her match in Arya. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Comments are much appreciated :)


	11. Jon

There are three things I know about the young Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.

He’s a bastard.

He knows how to forge Valyrian steel.

And he’ll soon be a dead man if he doesn’t take his hands off of Arya.

I’ve heard tales about the late king’s bastard. He was raised in a tavern and worked as an apprentice to a master smith. And was later taken under the protection of Lord Stannis Baratheon who named him his heir after his daughter’s untimely death. Soon after, Stannis was killed during the Battle for Winterfell and the bastard son of Robert Baratheon was declared the ruler of the Stormlands.

Ser Barristan Selmy said that he looked every inch like the young Robert Baratheon. He had the same jet-black hair and blue eyes but while I remember the late monarch as being portly and red-cheeked, the young man standing in front of me was tall and well-built, his muscular arms proof of his time spent in the forge.

 _Another bastard who has risen up in the world_ , I heard some of the elderly lords say when they thought I was out of hearing.

But no one has seen fit to inform me that Gendry Baratheon was acquainted with Arya. As it turns out they travelled together for some time after she escaped King’s Landing with the Night’s Watch recruits then later with the Brotherhood without Banners. And from the way they were talking and laughing with each other right now, it seems that they have quite a history together.

I felt a sense of irritation creeping up on me at seeing Arya talking to another man. I tried to suppress it, telling myself that they were just old friends who haven’t seen each other for some time, but it still settled heavily in the pit of my stomach.

Arya poked the young Baratheon right at the center of his chest. “So now we know why the Gold Cloaks were after you.”

“And here I thought they were looking for m’lady high,” he said, smiling at her in a way that was much too familiar for my comfort.

“Don’t call me that,” Arya said, giving him a hard shove. 

He didn’t even move an inch and just laughed. “Should I call you princess then?”

“Oh, shut up!” Arya said, her cheeks flushed with irritation, which only made the young man laugh even harder. 

He reached out and gave her head an affectionate pat. “Why is it that you seem to have grown even shorter since the last time I saw you?”

“That’s just because you’ve grown taller, stupid!” Arya said, rolling her eyes.

He did not take offense at her words, just stood there and grinned at her like an idiot.

Arya smiled wryly. “Well, at least Hot Pie still looked like Hot Pie.”

“You’ve seen him?”

“We stopped by Sharna’s inn on our way to Dragonstone,” Arya said. “And there he was at the kitchen, baking bread and making gravy.” 

"So we survived," he remarked, looking at Arya with obvious affection. 

Arya reached out to give his hand a squeeze. "We did." 

A fresh spurt of jealousy raced through me at their familiarity. I reached between them and slowly withdrew Arya’s hand from his, ignoring the curious looks from the young lord and the rest of the council.

Arya looked up at me, smiling. “I never knew he was the king’s son.” She turned back to Gendry with a quizzical smile. “We travelled together for some time but it didn’t even cross my mind.”

“Your sister saved my life, Your Grace,” Gendry said, not even bothering to take his eyes off of her. “If it wasn’t for her, I would have died at the Kingsroad."

And for a moment, I resented the hell out of Gendry Baratheon for sharing a part of Arya's life that I could never truly understand. Not in the way that he obviously does.

I clenched my jaw. “My half-sister.”

“Beg your pardon, Your Grace?” the young lord said, turning to look at me. 

“My half-sister,” I repeated, unable to hide the irritation in my voice. “She’s my half-sister, not my sister.” 

I met Tyrion Lannister’s gaze from across the room, his brows were raised and he looked amused. Beside him stood Ser Davos who was frowning, not at all pleased with my unwarranted remark.

I’m aware, of course, about the rumors surrounding my relationship with Arya. The mocking comparisons between us and the Lannister twins. And japes about me following in the footsteps of Aegon the Conqueror who married his younger sister out of desire.

Ser Davos had, more than once, asked me to be more discreet about my affair to quell the rumors but I find that I really didn’t care, one way or another. I’d spent my entire life trying to be honorable, to remove the taint of bastardy in my blood. But this time, I want to do the wrong thing, the bad thing. 

For once in my life, I just don’t give a damn.

__________

“So what am I to you then?”

I looked at Arya, she was already lying in bed, her silky hair spreading across the pillow, like a dark halo. 

“What do you mean?” I asked, even though I know exactly what she’s talking about. But I find that I’m not in the mood to have an argument with her.

“You told everyone I’m not your sister,” she continued. “So what would that make of me?”

“That you’re my half-sister, which is the truth,” I pointed out, stripping off my clothes.

“Do you really think it would make a difference to those men?” she scowled at me. 

I lowered myself beside her, joining her beneath the blankets and pulling her against me. 

“It doesn’t matter what they think,” I murmured as I slowly lowered her gown, pulling the linen fabric away from her body to expose her firm young breasts and narrow waist. “This is the only thing that matters.”

I cupped both of her breasts, kneading the soft flesh as I kissed her head, nuzzling into the silky locks of her hair. “You’ve never cared what other people think before, so why now?”

“Because you’re the king,” she whispered, her fingertips tracing the lines of my jaw. “And some might use this — us — against you.”

I carefully nipped at her fingers. “I’m king now so I could just behead anyone who daresay anything against us.”

Arya gave a shaky laugh. “I don’t think it works that way.”

I slid a hand down between her legs to find her already moist. “It doesn’t? So how do you suppose it works?”

“As a king you’re expected to marry well,” she panted, her eyes closed as I slowly dipped my finger inside her, sliding into the heat of her body. “Maybe a beautiful queen with silver hair and violet eyes.”

“The thing is, I’m not really fond of silver hair,” I whispered, pushing my finger deeper inside her, rubbing it back and forth against her nub. “It seems my taste runs to a certain dark haired girl with a fiery temper.”

Arya let out a soft exclamation of pleasure, her eyes closed and her head lying on the crook of my neck. 

I shifted slightly and pulled her on top of me. Her eyes were closed and her chest was heaving slightly. In the dim light, she looked so small, her skin very pale, her body spare. She smelled wonderful, like freshly bloomed roses. 

I drew her forward a bit more, then gripped her waist, pulling her down. She whimpered as my cock slid inside her, placing her hands on my shoulders as she slid slowly up before sliding all the way down, taking me to the hilt. 

She moaned loudly as I buried my face in her breasts, closing my lips over a nipple and gently sucking.

“Oh gods, Jon…” she gasped. “Ooohhh. Ooohhh!”

Arya jerked up once again, then down, and then she was riding me with relentless vigor, her sharp moans and high pitched cries of pleasure filling the room. 

I tried to hold back, but once she started riding my cock I was powerless. I came inside her as she continued to bounce up and down on my lap. 

Arya continued to cry out in her pleasure until it finally reached its crescendo in a long, drawn-out cry as she reached her climax. 

__________

Slowly, pulled Arya against me, stroking her hair. “Was it Gendry?”

She looked at me quizzically. “Gendry?”

“Your first lover,” I murmured. “Was it him?”

She shook her head, “No, we were just children back then.”

“Who was he?”

She was quiet for a moment and I quickly regretted asking her. I don’t think I could bear it if she tells me that she has been forced her first time.

“He was no one, really,” she finally said. “He went by different names, wore different faces. But once he was Jaqen H’ghar. I saved his life and in a way, he saved mine.”

“What happened then?” 

She tensed slightly. “I killed him.”

“He was the one who led me to them and when I decided to leave, they sent him after me,” she continued, her voice even.

"Did you love him?" I asked.

"We were both lonely, I guess," she said quietly. "We were no one, we had nothing. But for a time, we had each other."

Silence came and settled into the room like a fine mist. 

“I had a lover once too,” I confessed. “Her name was Ygritte.”

I thought of Ygritte, her red hair and wide-set blue eyes, that stubborn look she’d have on her face whenever we’d argue about something or other.

“She reminded me of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Gendrya fluff and a bit of Jonrya smut ❤️
> 
> And yeah, I thought it was a bit strange considering that Ygritte was a redhead but he never, even once, compared her to Sansa.
> 
> Instead he kept comparing her to Arya. Hmm...
> 
> Anyway, next chapter will probably deal with the whole Arya-Willas betrothal so let me know your thoughts on how you think it should be handled ;) 
> 
> Comments are much appreciated xx


	12. Willas

Arya Stark is a vision in white.

In a pearl-embroidered gown made of the finest ivory silk with a lace veil cascading down her back from a gold circlet fashioned into a wreath of roses, she looked like the perfect bride.

“Willas! What are you doing here?” Margaery shrieked. “It’s bad luck to see your bride in her gown before the wedding.”

Arya was standing in front of an ornately carved mirror, surrounded by a dozen seamstresses and what seems like yards and yards of silk. Her dark hair which she usually left loose and unbound was pulled up in an intricate braid while several ropes of pearls were draped around her slender neck. 

She looked every inch a princess but the regal effect was ruined when she rolled her eyes at me as both Margaery and Leonette went into near hysterics trying to block her from my view. The seamstresses bowed in my direction before quickly leaving the room. 

I grinned at the sight of my betrothed, entirely amused by her obvious discomfort at being subjected to a dress fitting with my sisters.

“I was on my way to the council meeting,” I said, leaning back against the doorway to the main salon. “And I just thought to stop by and see how the preparations are going.”

“I’ve been married three times, darling brother,” Margaery quipped. “Trust me, I know a thing or two about planning a wedding.”

Leonette smiled, reaching out to brush a stray tendril of hair from Arya’s face. “I’ve always wanted a little sister as pretty as you, someone I can dress up like a little doll.”

“I fear that I would have been a disappointment, my lady,” Arya said, her face sheepish. “My sister and her friend used to call me Arya Horseface and would neigh whenever I would pass by them.”

“Horseface? That’s absurd,” Leonette laughed softly. “You’re so beautiful!”

Arya smiled wistfully. “My sister was the beautiful one. I was a scruffy little girl, always covered in scratches and bruises. My mother and sister despaired about ever making a lady out of me.”

Ah, the beautiful Sansa. I've never met the elder Stark girl but my grandmother once planned to wed us a few years past. At that time, the young Robb Stark was crowned King in the North and was on his way south to avenge his father’s death. My grandmother decided it was in our family’s best interest to marry the Stark girl in case the Young Wolf’s campaign is met with success. But for some reason, Sansa was wed to Tyrion Lannister before I even got the chance to meet her.

“Lady Sansa is indeed a beauty, it’s a pity she was married to the Imp,” Margaery said with such obvious disdain. “Maybe she could visit Highgarden after the wedding?”

“Oh, that would be most delightful!” Leonette gushed, her slender frame almost vibrating in her excitement.

“We could travel to Oldtown where the best seamstresses could be found,” Margaery added, gesturing at the bolts of fabric in the room. “They make the most divine gowns.”

“I think you’d look lovely in silver,” Leonette remarked, leaning over to smoothen Arya’s skirt which looked as if it weighed at least two stones.

From the horrified look on Arya’s face, one would think Leonette and Margaery just told her that torture and imprisonment awaits her in Highgarden.

“Are you sure you want to marry into this family, my lady?” I teased. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“The last time a Stark broke a betrothal, he ended up dead,” she said, her voice was mild, almost light-hearted but a flicker of pain crossed her face. “I will not make the same mistake.”

“I assure you, my lady, we are nothing like the Freys,” I said solemnly. 

Arya looked at me warily, it was obvious that she was not entirely comfortable with discussing the Freys.

“Oh, hush Willas!” Margaery said, a warning glint in her eyes. “You’ll scare Lady Arya off if you keep talking about such unpleasant topics.”

Well, given that she most likely burned the entire Frey clan alive, I highly doubt _anything_ will scare Arya Stark off. But before I could remark upon my sister’s ridiculous notion, both she and Leonette stood up and curtsied in unison.

I looked around to find the king standing behind me, his face was pale and he was staring at his sister with dark eyes that seems to burn like brimstone.

“Your Grace,” Leonette said, her bright eyes wide with barely concealed excitement. “Doesn’t your sister look lovely?”

The king continued to look at his sister in silence, he opened his mouth as if to speak and closed it again.

Without another word, he turned away and walked out of the room.

__________

From the look on the king’s face when he saw his sister clad in her wedding finery, I knew it was only a matter of time before I receive a royal summon.

The king’s private study was large and airy with mullioned glass windows which overlooked the crystal towers of the Great Sept of Baelor. In the middle of the room was a massive oak desk piled high with papers where the young King in the North sat, his direwolf lying at his feet. 

Arya was stretched out in front of the glowing fire burning in the massive stone hearth with her own direwolf beside her. She was wearing one of those white linen nightgowns again, the kind which barely concealed her nubile frame. For a moment I was struck by how young she looked as she lay on her belly atop a bear skin rug, her legs swinging gently in the air.

There was nothing untoward about the whole scene but upon closer look, I noticed that their clothing was a bit rumpled and the king’s dark hair was mussed. Even in the dim light, I could see a faint bruise forming on Arya’s chest, just above the low neckline of her nightgown.

They were good at straddling the boundaries of propriety. At appearing like a pair of affectionate siblings but always there was that sexual undertone simmering beneath the surface, just enough to spark those unsavory rumors but not to confirm it.

They both looked up as I entered the room, watching me with wary eyes as if they were trying to gauge my reaction. 

“Good evening, Your Grace, my lady,” I said with a courteous bow, ignoring the prickle of unease at the back of my neck.

“Good evening, Lord Tyrell,” the king said, gesturing at the carved wooden chair in front of his desk. 

Arya stood up and walked towards her brother. “I would retire early and leave you to discuss things in private.”

“Be good and don’t get into any trouble,” the king murmured, pressing a chaste kiss on her forehead. 

She gave him a mischievous smile. “Don’t worry, I’m always good.”

The king flushed slightly while I tried to ignore the sexual innuendo behind her words.

Clad in a thin nightgown and bathed in the glow of the flickering light, Arya looked like a wood nymph — strange and half-tamed — that for a moment I envied the king. It is hard to believe that any man could ever tame this wild beauty. 

I imagine her in my bed, would she be as wild between the sheets as she is out of it?

She quirked a brow at me, an amused smile on her face, almost like she was able to read my lustful thoughts. “I bid you good night, Lord Tyrell.”

“Good night, my lady.” My gaze slid downward over the slender column of her throat to the firm slopes of her young breasts and to her long, slender legs and I felt a familiar ache in my gut. 

The king cleared his throat and gave me a hard look, obviously displeased with the way I was looking at his sister. 

_She’s my betrothed for god’s sake._ I thought, almost defensively. 

We both stared at Arya as she quietly left the room, her direwolf keeping pace beside her. 

The king glanced at the door. “I thought Lady Olenna will be joining us?”

“Contrary to most people’s belief, I’m a grown man and can make my own decisions, Your Grace,” I said with a grin. “Not that it ever stopped my grandmother from voicing out her opinions, mind you.”

“Of course,” he said, giving me a nod. “Forgive me, my lord, for summoning you at such a late hour, but the matter I need to discuss with you requires immediate attention.”

“I gather, this is about your sister, Your Grace.” 

“Yes, this is about Arya,” he looked at me directly. “She told me that she has talked to you and your family about how things stand between us.”

“She says that she intends to stay in the north after the wedding,” I said evenly. “I understand her attachment to Winterfell but Highgarden also needs its mistress. I’m sure we could reach a compromise, maybe she could spend a few moons in Highgarden every year?” 

“Are you proposing some kind of _ménage à trois_ , Lord Tyrell?” the king raised a dark brow at me, sounding almost amused. 

It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind but put that way, the arrangement did sound a bit sordid and I could feel a flush sweep over my face at the king’s indelicate words. 

But before I had the chance to respond, he looked at me with narrowed eyes. “I want to make it clear that I don’t intend to share Arya with you or anyone else.”

“Then it seems we have reached an _impasse_ , Your Grace,” I managed to say. “I would remind you that in three days time, your sister will be my wife and it is her duty to provide me with an heir.”

“And that is the reason why I called upon your presence, my lord.” He paused. “I’m sure we could reach a new agreement instead.”

For some reason, I was not surprised. I think there was a part of me that expected this to happen from the moment I saw them together back in Dragonstone. From the way he stared daggers at me the entire night of our betrothal feast, I knew that the king would not allow his sister to marry another man.

“What do you have in mind, Your Grace?”

“In three days time, we would gather at the Sept of Baelor and sign a new betrothal contract in place of the old one between you and Arya,” he said quietly. “A betrothal contract between our son and one of your daughters.”

“Think about it, my lord,” the king continued. “If Arya marries you, she’ll be Lady Tyrell. But if your daughter marries our son, she’ll become a princess. Maybe, even a queen.”

“Our son?” I blurted out, “Forgive me, Your Grace, but do you mean…”

“I plan to marry Arya as soon as we get back to Winterfell.”

“Your Grace, need I remind you that she’s your sister,” I said tersely. “No septon will allow you to marry, it’s against the laws of men.”

“Need I remind you, Lord Tyrell, that you are talking to the king,” he said dryly. “Three hundred years ago, Aegon Targaryen married his sisters and everyone accepted it simply because of the crown on his head.”

I could tell by the look on the king’s eyes that he has made up his mind and that there is no use to argue with him. But he also made it clear that he was willing to go to great lengths to keep his sister by his side, which I plan to use to my advantage.

“I’m sure our family would be honored to sign the betrothal agreement,” I said, watching the other man intently. “But we would need a more immediate recompense for our support against the Lannisters.”

“Of course,” he said with a firm nod. “I’ve discussed with the queen and we have decided that in return for House Tyrell’s loyalty, we will release your brother Loras from the Kingsguard and grant him Horn Hill and all its lands and incomes.” 

It's a good offer, I'll grant him that and with Garlan being the lord of Brightwater Keep, our family’s power in the Reach will be unparalleled. But a vision of the lovely Arya Stark came to my mind and I suddenly had the urge to tell the king that he could keep Horn Hill to himself.

“It’s a generous offer, Your Grace,” I finally admitted. “But it would only benefit my brother Loras and our family, of course.” I continued, choosing my words carefully. “I would be lying if I say that I do not find your sister attractive, I was actually looking forward to having her in my… home.”

The king’s face hardened and his hands clenched into fists. “What is it that you want, Lord Tyrell?”

“The Westerlands.” 

“What you are asking is impossible,” he said between clenched teeth. “The Westerlands have been promised to House Tully for their _steadfast_ loyalty to House Stark.”

I ignored the hint of derision on his tone. I would be the first to admit that House Tyrell’s loyalty is to its own interests, first and foremost. 

“As you have promised me the hand of your sister in return for our support,” I returned, not missing the way the king’s eyes darkened in anger at the word _sister._

“I could tear your house apart, Lord Tyrell,” the king said, his voice was quiet but his words seemed to echo in the vast room. “I have the Vale and the Riverlands behind me and as I’m sure you are aware the Greyjoys have long hankered to get their hands on Shield Islands.”

 _So the king is willing to play dirty,_ I thought with some degree of surprise.

I looked at the young man in front of me who has gained an almost god-like status amongst the people of Westeros. Tales of his heroics in the battle field have been told and re-told from the icy tips of the Frozen Shore to the sandy dunes of the Summer Sea.

But Lord Tyrion Lannister once told me that the young king is as good a negotiator as he is a warrior. He has managed to forge an alliance with the wildings and even turned the Dragon Queen into an ally despite rejecting her marriage proposal.

He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would let his emotions get the better of him, but it seems that he has a bit of wolf’s blood in him after all. 

“Are you declaring war on House Tyrell, Your Grace?” I asked sharply.

The silence that followed my words was grim and absolute and in an instant the room seems to crackle with volatile energy. For a long moment we just sat there, staring at each other.

“I was born a bastard as I’m sure you are aware of, Lord Tyrell,” the king finally said. “I was raised with my father’s true-born children but everyone made sure that I remember my place, everyone except for Arya. To her I was not her bastard brother, I was just Jon Snow and she loved me with all her heart.”

His grim, austere face softened at the mention of his sister. “She's always held a special place in my heart despite the fact that I thought she died a long time ago." He turned to me, his eyes hardening. “I do not say this to make you understand because I’ve long given up caring what other people think about my relationship with Arya.” He then paused. “I’m tired of war, Lord Tyrell, but if that’s what it takes to keep Arya by my side then yes, I will declare war on House Tyrell.”

“I never fought in the war, Your Grace, but I’ve seen men, good men, men that I respect and admire, die because of the whims of a king,” I said coldly. “So forgive me if I hesitate to pledge allegiance to a king that seems to put his own personal interests before that of the realm.”

The king did not even bother to deny it, he simply looked at me, his features impassive.

I stood up slowly, rubbing a hand over my bad leg. “It’s quite late, Your Grace. Why don’t we sleep on it and discuss again in the morrow?"

As I turned to walk towards the door, the king’s gruff voice stopped me. “It is said that you are a reasonable man, Lord Tyrell. I trust you won’t prove it wrong in this regard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think it would be that easy, did you? :) 
> 
> I really enjoyed writing Jon and Arya's relationship from Willas' pov; so I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it. 
> 
> So how do you think Willas will respond next chapter? And how about Jon?
> 
> Let me know your thoughts!


	13. Arya

“What have you done?” 

I entered the library to find Jon leaning over an oak desk, reading a large tome. He looked up as I closed the door firmly shut behind me, his expression inscrutable. 

“I assume you are talking about your betrothal with Lord Tyrell.”

“Well, from what I’ve heard it’s my _former_ betrothal to Lord Tyrell,” I pointed out. “As it seems you have taken it upon yourself to break it off without even telling me.”

“You gave me little choice as you seem quite willing to tie yourself to that man,” he said tersely.

I tilted my head a little, studying him closely. “Do you think I want to marry Willas?”

A flicker of hurt crossed his face as he closed the book he was reading. “I don’t know Arya. Why is it that you seem so into your wedding preparations if you don’t want to marry him?”

I found my temper rising with every word he spoke. How dare he ask me that question when even standing still, I could feel a soreness between my legs, a reminder of how many times he took me last night. A vision of him above me, his hips plunging into me again and again and again filled my mind. And before I could stop myself, I grabbed a book out of the nearest shelf and threw it at him.

It hit him right at the center of his chest.

“What the — Arya!” 

“I’m doing it for you!” I said, walking swiftly towards him and poking his chest, hard. “Do you think I want to wear that stupid dress? Do you think I want to be pricked and poked and prodded by needles all day long? Because trust me, I don’t. But I’m doing it for you.” I balled my hand into a fist and punched him lightly in the chest. “I’m doing it because you’re king and you should be securing alliances, not breaking them. Because the Tyrells are the wealthiest family in the realm and they could feed the entire north after the war.” I paused, my breathing labored. “I’m doing it because I signed a fucking betrothal contract and I’m not going to break it like Robb did. I won’t let you make the same mistake. I won't lose you… I can't...”

And then Jon was kissing me, his lips hot and fierce against mine. I closed my eyes and my lips parted beneath the insistent pressure of his tongue. And for a moment, I let the familiar rush of desire wash over me. For a moment, I let myself forget about the broken betrothal and all the ways the Tyrells could exact retribution against us.

“Listen to me, Arya,” he murmured, his face buried in the hollow of my neck. “I’m not Robb. I won’t make the same mistakes he did.”

I thought of Robb, with his tousled auburn hair and easy smile. He was all that was good and kind and honorable. Just like Jon, just like our father. And he died at sixteen, betrayed by his own bannermen and mutilated by his enemies.

I was tempted to tell Jon about the Red Wedding, about Robb’s headless corpse being paraded around the Twins with Grey Wind’s head on top of it. Maybe then he would finally realize the folly of his actions against the Tyrells. But in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. They were as close as true brothers growing up and I know that Jon still harbors some guilt for not being at Robb’s side during the war. It would destroy him if he ever learned how atrocious Robb’s death truly was. 

“Willas is a reasonable man," Jon said firmly. "I expect he would soon see that going to war against the north will not benefit House Tyrell.”

 _Even the most beautiful rose has its thorns_. I wanted to tell Jon but I knew from the look on his face that there was no changing his mind about this matter.

“Do you know what they say about me?” I whispered. “They say that I’ve bewitched you.”

“You have bewitched me,” Jon agreed, his lips tracing the line of my jaw. “From the moment you set foot in Winterfell all those months ago, I’ve wanted to possess you. Every inch of you.”

“They say I’m just like aunt Lyanna,” I continued, taking a ragged breath as his lips moved down my throat and then to my chest, lightly nipping the tender skin at the edge of my dress. “That I will be your undoing just as she was Prince Rhaegar’s.”

Jon slowly lifted his head, looking at me intently. “You are not Lyanna,” he said in a low voice, taking my chin in his hand and tilting my head up to meet his dark eyes. “You are Arya and you’re mine. And I’ll kill any man who tries to take you from me.”

__________

There was no moonlight that night and dark clouds seem to hung heavy in the city. The darkness forced me to go slowly as I prowled the peaked, stone-tiled roof of the Red Keep until I finally reached my destination. 

Through the slitted yellow eyes of the black tomcat, I could see two figures inside the room — the slight, stooped form of Lady Olenna and the tall and strapping Ser Garlan.

“The smallfolk are rooting for the King in the North,” Ser Garlan was saying to his grandmother. “They think he’s some kind of god.”

“Bah! What does it matter what the smallfolk thinks?” Lady Olenna gave her cane a thump. “What matters is what the northern lords think.”

“They are loyal to the Starks.”

“That is true,” Lady Olenna said with a nod. “But the king and his wild sister are not the only Starks alive.”

Ser Garlan’s brows creased as the words sinked in. “What you are proposing is treason, grandmother.”

“Hush, my boy,” she said. “I have already sent a raven to Lord Baelish, he will take care of the rest.”

“I don’t trust him,” he muttered, taking the seat across his grandmother.

“No one trusts Lord Baelish,” Lady Olenna remarked. “But you have to admit, he gets things done.”

“Willas won’t like this,” Ser Garlan sighed. “He won’t like this at all.”

“Your brother has gone soft in the head for the Stark girl,” Lady Olenna snorted. “She’s beautiful, I'll grant her that. Looks just like her aunt. And likely, just as wild.” 

_I've heard enough._ I slipped out of the black tomcat and found myself back in my bedchamber with Jon asleep beside me. 

Quietly, I climbed out of the bed, careful not to wake him. I paused to look down at Jon sleeping in my bed, his dark hair mussed and his pale skin glowing in the dim room. Even in sleep, his brows were furrowed and his forehead creased with worry. I felt a sudden wave of tenderness and I reached down to stroke his dark hair before leaving the room. 

_It’s time to have a little talk with the Queen of Thorns._

__________

“Ssshhh, ssshhh,” I said quietly, holding a dagger against Lady Olenna's jaw, just below her ear. “There is no need to be frightened, my lady. I won’t hurt you.”

She looked at me, her eyes wide. “Who… are you?”

Slowly, I peeled the blonde boy’s face from my own. The old lady stared at me, her face nearly frozen in shock. “L—lady Stark?” 

“See? You know me, there is no need for fear.” I pressed two fingers at the side of her neck, feeling her pulse quicken. “Do you promise not to shout or do anything rash, my lady?"

She frantically nodded. I lowered my arm and sheathed my dagger, taking a seat at the wooden chair across from the bed.

“You’re one of them,” Lady Olenna said, her voice a near whisper. “Those men who can change their faces at will to murder people."

“Murder is such an ugly word, don’t you think?” I asked, giving the old lady some time to calm her nerves. “We prefer to call it giving the gift of mercy.”

"Mercy? Ha!" she snorted. “Do you think to frighten me to bend to your brother’s will?”

I smiled at her, admiring her obstinacy. Not many people can remain calm in the presence of a Faceless Man. “I have come to negotiate a truce.”

“What kind of truce?” 

“Do you remember what I’ve told you before?” I asked. “I said that if you ever lift a finger against Jon, I will tear your house apart.”

Lady Olenna’s face wrinkled into a frown. “I do not know what you mean, child.”

“I’m tired of lies, my lady,” I told her calmly. “I know about your plans, about the letter you sent Lord Baelish. Now, you’re going to tell me the truth or I might just change my mind about not hurting you.” 

“It’s your brother that is at fault here, my lady,” she returned defiantly. “He declared war against House Tyrell when he chose to set aside the betrothal agreement.”

I looked at the frail old lady in front of me, wearing a dainty silk nightgown, her powdery white hair hidden by a bejewelled turban. “Tell me, my lady, have you ever been hungry in your life?”

Her wizened old face creased in confusion. And I could tell the very idea of hunger was alien to her. 

“The hunger, the fear, the cold. It’s the smallfolk whose lives are torn apart while you and Lord Baelish play your little games behind the safety of your castles.” I said, unable to hide the anger from my voice. “The bards sing about Garlan the Gallant and the Knight of Flowers but the Lommys and Weasels are all but forgotten.” I paused for a moment, trying to regain control of my emotions. “There will be no more wars so long as the Starks rule the north. And if I have to kill your entire family then so be it.”

“Just like you killed the Freys?” the old woman queried softly, her face pale. 

“Do you know what I did to Walder Frey, my lady? I made him watch as I killed his entire family, as his castle burned to the ground. He died knowing his legacy was gone.” I gave her a chilling smile. “It gave me great pleasure to see him naked and helpless, begging for mercy. Mercy? Ha! I showed him the exact same mercy that he showed my mother and brother.”

I watched Lady Olenna intently, taking in the fear in her eyes.

 _Good_. Fear has its uses.

“Believe me, my lady, it won’t bring me any pleasure to kill your family. I’ve grown rather fond of them. But if it comes down to it, I will kill them a thousand times over for Jon.”

“So I’m here to offer you a truce,” I continued dispassionately. “In return for your loyalty, I will persuade Jon to give the Tyrells half of the Westerlands.” I leaned towards her. “If you proceed with your plans, I assure you that I will know about it, my lady. And this time, I will show your family the same mercy I showed the Freys.”

I stood up and slowly approached the bed as Lady Olenna scooted backwards, trying to get as far away from me as possible. 

“Now, do we have an agreement, my lady?”

__________

“So this is good bye, my lady."

I looked up to see Willas Tyrell smiling wistfully at me.

We were standing in front of the Sept of Baelor with the rest of the lords and ladies who have come to bear witness as House Stark and House Tyrell sign a new betrothal agreement, promising a match between the future generation. Loras Tyrell was also divested of his white cloak and declared the lord of Horn Hill while the southern region of the Westerlands — from Crakehall to Hornvale —pledged their allegiance to their new liege lord.

“I was actually looking forward to marrying you, you know," Willas admitted in a quiet voice.

I smiled at that. “Trust me, I would’ve made your life hell.”

Willas shrugged lightly. “I would've liked a daughter with dark hair and grey eyes like yours.” He gestured at the silver dagger strapped at my waist. “A little rose who has more thorns than petals.”

“We would name her Priscilla,” I replied, smiling at him fondly. “And everyone will call her _Priscilla the Prickly_.”

We both laughed aloud at the silly notion. 

Then Willas suddenly turned away from me, his comely face solemn. “Do you love him that much?”

I followed the direction of his gaze to see Jon standing across the sept, talking to Ser Garlan and Lord Tytos Blackwood.

“I was standing right there,” I said to him, pointing towards the statue of Baelor, “when my father was beheaded.”

“For a long time, I learned to live with a hole right where my heart is supposed to be,” I continued, looking back at Jon in his silver armor, a shining crown upon his head. “But Jon fills that hole inside of me. That place where my father, my mother, and brothers once belong. Now there’s only Jon Snow.”

Willas did not say a word and we just stood there in companionable silence as the bells at the seven towers of the Sept of Baelor started ringing to signal the beginning of a new alliance, filling the city with the sound of peace and maybe, even hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so that's it... their betrothal has come to an end. 
> 
> They will be going north in the next chapter and there will be new POVs, definitely.
> 
> What do you guys think? Whose POVs do you want to see in the future? 
> 
> Comments are much appreciated ❤️


	14. Gendry

_Clang... clang... clang..._

The familiar sounds of steel against steel greeted me as I entered the castle smithy. It was almost midnight but the place was still alive with blacksmiths bent to the task of forging the cache of dragon glass mined from the depths of Dragonstone. After the endless talks of supplies and battle plans, the forge was a welcome sight.

Some of the men took notice of me and bowed courteously before going back to their labor, heating and hammering the shiny black stones into spears and arrow heads and longswords to be used in the coming war.

I walked over to an alcove at the back of the smithy where the master smiths were forging that rarest of all metals — Valyrian steel. The lost art of forging Valyrian steel had been unearthed by the maester of the Night’s Watch, a heavyset fellow who claimed that he found it in an alchemist’s book that was hidden away in a dusty corner of the Citadel.

Swiftly, I took off the black surcoat and linen shirt I was wearing, folding them on top of a wooden table and tied a leather apron around my waist. And with an ease born from years of practice, I picked up a piece of steel using a pair of metal tongs and heated it in the furnace which was ablaze with dragon fire from one of the queen’s _children_. 

Again and again, I heated the shiny piece of metal into a glowing red and pounded it against the anvil until it turned from silver to almost milk-white. I let myself get lost in that all-too-familiar routine where nothing exists except for the heavy hammer in my hand and that sweet piece of steel. 

Master Tobho Mott once told me that I was born to wield a hammer and there was a time when I could’ve spent the rest of my life in the forge and be content. But that was before the war, before Master Mott sent me to join the Night’s Watch where I met a young girl fleeing King’s Landing disguised as a boy.

Even after all these years, I could still remember in vivid details a skinny lad beating up a boy who was older than him and probably weighed twice as much. The younger boy was hitting his opponent with a wooden sword when suddenly he looked straight at me with those silvery eyes and I realized that he was actually a _she_. And from that moment on, my life had never been the same.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

I looked up to find that same girl standing in the doorway, her hands clasped behind her back. She was dressed plainly in a black wool dress and matching cloak, her simplicity further accentuating her striking features. 

No one could ever mistaken the young woman standing in front of me for a boy. Not even Hot Pie.

Highborn and smallfolk alike call her the _She-Wolf_ on account of the army of wolves she leads into battle, savagely killing any man who dare raise his sword against House Stark. While enemy soldiers simply refer to her as “ _the wolf bitch_.”

But no matter what names others call her, she would always be Arry to me. A lord’s daughter who risked her life time and time again to save a bunch of ragged orphans.

In the years since that rainy night when she was taken by the Hound, the Brotherhood has scoured the war-torn Riverlands in search of her. Weeks and months and years have gone by without any news about her, and Lem and Thoros and even Harwin have given her up for dead. She was last seen at the Saltpans around the time that Rorge and the rest of the Bloody Mummers massacred the entire town. Lem said it was more than likely that she perished along with the rest of the townfolk.

But I hadn’t forgotten her at all. Some nights I even dreamed of her wearing that silly dress with all the acorns on it, telling me that I could make swords for her brother at Riverrun. And then there were the nightmares where I would see her lying facedown in a pool of blood, her throat torn into pieces while Biter stood beside her with his pointed teeth dripping with blood.

But the young woman who returned to Westeros looked nothing like the scrawny little girl who traveled the Riverlands bare-footed and wearing dirty rags. The first time I saw her again after the fall of King’s Landing, I could scarcely believe that it was her. If not for her eyes. I would know those silvery eyes anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” I asked brusquely.

She didn’t answer and instead tossed a shiny round object at me.

It was a silver helm, rounded and curved, with a slit visor and two curving metal horns on each side. It was my helm, the one I forged back in King’s Landing. The last time I saw it, one of the Lannister men was wearing it.

“How did you…?”

Arya shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. Dunsen’s dead. They’re all dead. Even Raff.” 

Over the years, I’ve encountered hundreds of Lannister soldiers and could barely tell them apart, all of them nothing more than scums that I’d sooner forget. But I could see it in her eyes that, unlike me, she remembers. She remembers them all.

“Let it rest, Arya.” I said quietly. “Lommy’s gone. Yoren and all the rest too. Nothing you do can bring them back.”

“Just so,” she said with a nod. “But all the same it gave me great satisfaction to kill them. To make them pay for what they did.” 

She looked back at me with steady eyes and I remember a young girl at the Peach, wearing a frilly lace dress and asserting matter-of-factly that a brothel is _like an inn, with girls_. But there was no innocence left in those silver eyes. Life has forged Arya Stark into steel — hard and unyielding. She’d seen and most likely, done things that would probably give a grown man nightmares.

“So tell me, Lord Baratheon, why have you been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.” I gestured at the half-forged steel lying against the furnace. “As you can see, I’ve been quite busy.”

“But I thought we’re friends,” she continued. “And friends make time for each other yes?”

“I doubt your _brother_ would be pleased with you being friends with another man.” I said succinctly.

I turned back to the anvil and started pounding the burning steel against it, hoping that the loud clanging sounds would drown out the bitterness in my voice.

“So you’ve heard of the rumors then,” Arya said softly. “Do you believe it?” 

In the beginning I turned a deaf ear to the rumors about the king and his sister, chalking up the king’s behavior to that of an overprotective brother not a jealous lover as some of the more malicious tongues were wont to say. But the more I see them together, the more I couldn't deny the appalling truth.

“I don’t listen to rumors,” I hammered the steel so hard that the edge nearly broke apart. “But I’m not stupid, my lady.”

"And do you disapprove of my being with Jon? Do you think it's a sin?" she asked and there was a hint of frustration in her voice.

“It is a sin,” I insisted. 

“Says who?” 

I straightened and turned to her, exasperated. “Says everyone.”

“To hell with everyone,” she said, her eyes glinting in defiance. “I’ve suffered enough. And now I just want to be happy. Tell me, is that such a sin?”

“I don’t make the rules, my lady.” I said with a shrug.

"I've never been fond of rules," she said. “I was raised knowing that the only thing expected of me is to marry and marry well. So I told myself that I would never marry, I would never settle down. I wanted to go off on a great adventure.” Her lips quirked wistfully. “And then the war happened and all I wanted was for things to go back the way it used to be. I wanted to be home and home is wherever Jon Snow is.”

Her impassioned plea caught me off-guard. I've always thought that Arya Stark doesn't have a romantic bone in her body. She's always been the sensible one, no-nonsense and utterly pragmatic. She did not giggle or cry over songs like the other young maidens in court. And she was the last person who I'd think would throw caution in the wind for love.

And suddenly I realized just how wrong I was. All these time, she was just hiding behind a mask. That beneath the brash and headstrong Arya Stark, there was a vulnerability which she tries so hard to keep hidden from the world. It was a disconcerting thought, really.

 _I could be your home_. I wanted to say but I knew that saying those words would be a great folly.

I briefly wondered what my life would be like if I haven’t met Arya Stark. Mayhaps, I would have been content with an ordinary life as a blacksmith, married to a village girl and siring a half-dozen brats. I’ve never wanted to be a knight nor a lord, not until this young girl came hurtling into my life like a hurricane, sending my well-ordered life into chaos.

And it was a bitter pill to swallow that even now that I’m standing in front of her, a great lord with a castle and a large army at my command, she still remains out of my reach. 

She looked at me for a moment with those eyes of hers that seem to see right through me but when I didn’t say a word she just sighed and turned to walk away.

“I should’ve gone to Riverrun with you…” I said quietly.

But by that time she was already out of the door and didn’t hear me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year ❤️
> 
> Sorry for the wait, things got pretty hectic during the holidays. 
> 
> As promised, here's a new POV for you guys. 
> 
> I've always thought that Gendry and Arya's story is left open-ended given that she was kidnapped by the Hound. So it's nice to see them reunite (and hopefully, we'll get to see Hot Pie too!) and for things to come full circle. 
> 
> And here's to hoping that _The Winds of Winter_ will finally be published this year. I can't wait for Arya to make puberty her b*tch ;)


	15. Daenerys

The royal wheelhouse was sumptuous as befits a queen, it was made of shiny black lacquer painted with the Targaryen sigil and pulled by a team of black destriers. The inside was lined with black silk and the seats were made of plush red velvet trimmed with gold. A small ebony table carved in the shape of a flame-breathing dragon sat in the middle holding a plate of honeyed plums and a pitcher of Arbor gold.

It was a far cry from that time I spent roaming the Dothraki Sea, starved and covered in blisters, with nothing in sight and nowhere to go. But even now surrounded by all these riches and the largest army in the known world, I’ve never felt more alone.

We have spent the better part of the past week traveling in the Riverlands on our way north. In every village and town we passed by, the smallfolk gathered at the side of the roads, hoping to get a glimpse of their beloved king.

But it was the king’s sister who they seem to truly adore. She is regarded as a folk hero in the north for destroying the evil Lannisters and restoring the benevolent Starks back to power. Several moons ago, she also brought the Lannister soldiers to a trial and asked the smallfolk to stand as witness to their crimes before hanging them in public, in full view of the people who bore their cruelties. 

After years and years of suffering, Arya Stark gave the smallfolk the vengeance that they have long craved and for that she has won their undying devotion.

In a way, we have much in common. Both of us having lived in exile — powerless and penniless — but by sheer force of will we both made something of ourselves and returned to restore our family’s name and exact revenge against our family’s enemies. But while the smallfolk worship the ground she walks on, they look at me with distrust and fear. To them, I’m a stranger from a faraway land who brought three ferocious beasts and a horde of foreign warriors to their land.

“We are almost at Riverrun, my queen,” Lord Tyrion Lannister remarked as he opened the carriage window. “It will be a welcome respite after weeks of traveling in this blasted snow!”

I leaned over to look out at the snow-covered scenery and saw the king and his sister, riding together in matching black garrons, their heads bent towards each other. Arya smiled up at her brother and even from afar, I could see the play of emotions on her face. Desire. Trust. Love.

Against the snowy-white landscape, with their near-identical dark features and their black fur-lined cloaks, they make quite a pretty picture. 

“Ah, young love!” Tyrion drawled. “It’s a beautiful thing to behold, isn’t it?”

“And also a very dangerous thing,” I said, turning to look at him. “My brother loved Lady Lyanna and to this day, the kingdom still bleeds for it.”

“Men could be such fools when it comes to love,” he agreed.

“I’ve offered him my kingdom and my dragons and the Targaryen legacy,” I said, not even trying to hide the frustration in my voice. “Yet he still chose her.”

“Men always want the things they can’t have,” Tyrion shrugged. “It’s the lure of the forbidden. And what could be more forbidden than loving that of your own blood?”

“Unless you’re a Targaryen,” I quipped, taking a bite of plum. 

“Touché,” he said, raising a glass of wine towards me in a mock toast.

“How far do you think he’s willing to risk for her?” I asked, looking out the window to see the king reach out to gently flick away the snow flakes on his sister’s hair. 

“What do you mean?”

“His kingdom is built on the north’s allegiance to his late father,” I murmured. “What do you think the northern lords would do when they find out that Ned Stark’s bastard son is bedding his little girl?”

“Careful, my queen,” Tyrion warned. “The Starks do not see the things the way we do. It’s either you are with them or you are against them. There is nothing in between.”

“Do you know what it took for me to get here, my lord?” I asked, closing the carriage window firmly shut. “For years I wandered across the Narrow Sea with nothing but the Targaryen name and now here I am.” I leaned back against the satin pillows. “Do you really believe that after all is said and done, I would settle for half a kingdom?”

______

I walked into the great hall at Riverrun to find the lords of the Westerlands standing in the center of the room together with the king and the rest of the war council.

The lords pledged to House Lannister looked at me with ill-concealed distrust in their eyes but they bowed nonetheless.

“House Banefort has been pledged to House Lannister for thousands of years,” Lord Quenten Banefort’s voice was quiet but his green eyes flashed with rage. “And now you expect us to bend our knees to a _fish_?”

“Choose your words carefully, my lord,” Lord Edmure Tully bristled at the insult. “I will remind you that you are standing in my demesne."

“My lords, there is no need to trade insults,” Ser Davos Seaworth said in his usual calm manner. “The king and the Queen Daenerys are here to listen to your concerns and if deemed valid, the crown will address it in a manner that will benefit all parties.”

“We have only one concern, Your Grace,” Lord Banefort said coldly. “We would not bend our knees to House Tully.”

“The war is over,” the king said implacably. “House Lannister is gone and their lands have been forfeited to the crown.”

“They are not gone, Your Grace,” Lord Damon Marbrand interjected. “Lord Jaime Lannister has been released from the Kingsguard and we ask that he be given the royal pardon so that he could rule the Westerlands as Lord Tywin Lannister’s rightful heir.”

I glanced at Tyrion to gauge his reaction but his face remained impassive. It is said that the Lannisters lost the war the night that Tywin Lannister died. And for that the lords of the Westerlands lay the blame entirely at Tyrion’s feet. They would not accept him as their liege lord that much is made clear.

“Lord Jaime Lannister is on his way to the Wall as we speak,” Ser Davos replied. “He is to join the Night’s Watch as befits his war crimes.”

“War crimes?” Lord Banefort’s voice hardened. “The Lannister might have lost the war but we fought with honor and anyone who daresay otherwise is a liar.”

“Lord Banefort? Your sigil was a black hooded man on a grey field.” Arya’s voice suddenly echoed in the large hall. “I saw your soldiers at Harrenhal. There was this one girl, prettier than the others, and your soldiers took turns raping her every night. And then one night she just snapped and tried to kill one of them. Gregor Clegane made us watch while he took off her head with a single blow. Your soldiers laughed about it for days.” She looked at Lord Banefort directly and gave a mocking laugh. “And you dare talk about honor, my lord?”

“And who are you, little girl?” Lord Banefort said angrily, abruptly jabbing an index finger into Arya’s nose. “Why don’t you go and play with your dolls, girl. And leave us men…eeeeeoooohhh!”

Suddenly, Lord Banefort let out a loud scream.

Arya was bending his index finger in such a way that it was nearly touching his wrist. Lord Banefort’s face turned almost purple, his eyes tearing up in pain.

“Let go, you bitch…”

“Tell me, my lord, where were you when your soldiers were raping and torturing and murdering innocent people in the name of House Lannister?” Arya jabbed Lord Banefort’s broad nose with his own finger. “How dare you come here and make demands? When you should have hung on the gallows together with the rest of your men.” She jabbed him again on the nose. “You should be grateful to the king for allowing you to live and keep your lands.”

She pressed harder and Lord Banefort screamed even louder, falling to his knees in agony. “So if the king tells you to bend your knees, you _will_ bend your knees, do you understand?”

I looked around the room but everyone seemed to be frozen in place. Clearly, none of the lords knew how to deal with a fight that has been started by a young girl nearly half their size. 

“Arya,” the king said quietly but firmly. “That’s enough.”

And just like that, Arya released Lord Banefort’s finger and all hell broke loose.

“You bitch!”

“Your heathen ways are not welcome here.”

“Heathen? Are you insulting the people of the north?”

“You are talking to a lady, my lord.” 

“My lords, I bid you all to calm down.”

Tyrion looked up at me, his mismatched eyes dancing with amusement. “Well, that escalated rather quickly.”

______

I found him sitting on a wooden bench, carefully running a whetstone against the edge of his sword. He looked up and gave a polite nod as I sat beside him. 

For a moment, I just studied the young King in the North in the dim moonlight. He was tall and lean, his slender frame belying his strength and prowess in the battle field. He had dark hair, a straight aquiline nose, and a firm mouth. And the faint scar above his left eye only served to enhance his good looks, giving his solemn countenance a slightly dangerous edge. 

He was too pretty for my tastes. I’ve always preferred men who are a bit rough on the edges. But there was something incredibly appealing about Jon Snow. An inherent sadness that makes a woman want to wrap her arms around him and soothe all his hurts away. 

“You cannot just let your sister do anything she wants,” I said, glancing at him.

Jon shrugged. “Lord Banefort was fortunate that I didn’t reach him first or he would’ve broken his nose rather than a finger.”

“You indulge her too much,” I said mildly.

“It’s a force of habit,” he said, not even bothering to deny it. “I’ve always delighted in spoiling her even while growing up. It’s what brothers do.”

“And do you love her as a brother?” I asked. 

Slight amusement showed in his handsome face. “I love Arya in all kinds of way.”

Love is not something I think much about. Not since the day that Drogo died in that little village in Lhazar. I’ve learned a lesson the day that witch took Drogo and our son from me. That love is a dangerous thing. And to let one person be the center of your world would only lead to pain and heartbreak. 

We sat in silence for a moment or so before I spoke again. “We’re not so different, you and I. You were born a bastard while I was raised in exile. We have lived our entire lives on the outside always looking in. And now here we are.”

Jon gave a sharp nod. “And now here we are.”

“We could make Westeros great again,” I reached out to touch his hand gently. “A divided kingdom is more likely to breed rebellion than a united one.”

“And isn’t that the reason behind our alliance?” Jon asked, his voice wary.

“We could further strengthen that alliance by marriage,” I said bluntly. 

He was silent. And in the moonlight, his features seemed even more aloof than usual. “I’m in love with Arya.” 

“You misunderstand me,” I said. “I’m not asking for your love nor do I expect it. Ours will be a political marriage, nothing more. You could keep Arya by your side and I will take my own lovers as well.”

His voice was filled with grim humor. “If you think Arya will agree to that kind of arrangement then you’ve gravely misjudged her.”

“The first duty of the king is to the realm,” I reminded him, finding that it required great effort to keep my voice even. “You will do well to remember that, _Your Grace_.”

“I’ve given up everything in the name of duty, my queen,” he said and when his eyes met mine, they burned with emotions. “When the Lannisters took my father prisoner, I stayed at the Wall. When my brother marched south, still I stayed. When the free folk attacked the Wall, I left my lover behind and did my duty.” He continued in a quiet tone. “But when I was made to choose between duty and Arya, I chose her. And may the gods forbid, but if I have to do it all over again, I would not hesitate to make the same choice.”

I averted my gaze from him, trying to ignore the frustration burning inside of me. “I had a brother too, his name was Viserys. He sold me to a warlord in exchange for forty thousand Dothraki horsemen.” 

Jon looked at me with pity. And I hated him for that.

I am the queen, the _Mother of Dragons_. Men beg for my hand in marriage not the other way around.

But when I looked at him, I just smiled and said softly. “I hope Arya knows how fortunate she is to have you." Then leaning over, I pressed a feathery-light kiss on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a Dany pov! 
> 
> And I also included a bit about the Westerlands (although we'll still hear about it in future chapters) ;) 
> 
> What do you guys think of it? 
> 
> Thanks for reading xx


	16. Jon

We arrived at Wolf’s Den at dusk, just as the sun was already sinking towards the western horizon. The castle guards, dressed in blue-green cloaks and bearing the sigil of House Manderly opened the iron gates as I rode in together with Ser Davos and several members of the Kingsguard.

The townsfolk gathered outside the castle walls while the guards ordered them to stand back. “Off with you,” one of the guards said impatiently. “Off with you, people.” But still they stayed. The King in the North had come to White Harbor and the whole town turned up to get a glimpse of their legendary sire.

“Look, ma, it’s the White Wolf!” a young child said in an awed voice. “I heard he killed an entire army by himself.”

Another child piped in. “My pa said he drinks the blood of his enemies!” 

“They say he can’t be killed!” a woman said, her voice fearful. “That every time he falls, he will just rise again, more powerful than before.”

What did the people expect to see, I wonder? A giant half-man, half-wolf with red eyes and pointed teeth? Or a corpse with pale-white skin and hollow eyes? Instead they saw a tall and lean young man, barely in his twenties, sitting atop a black warhorse and surrounded by several knights clad in silver armor etched with the figure of a direwolf. 

The chief gaoler, a one-legged man with a scarred face, bowed courteously.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“Follow me, Your Grace.”

I gestured at Ser Davos to stay in the courtyard as I followed the gaoler inside the dark, crumbling castle with Ghost padding silently beside me. “Careful, Your Grace,” he cautioned as we slowly made our way down the narrow stone steps where the dungeons lay in rank darkness.

He took a key from under his tunic and opened a small wooden door beneath the stairs, carefully placing a lantern on an iron peg on the wall. 

“Leave us,” I said. “And see that we are not disturbed.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

There was silence inside the small cell except for the sound of the gaoler closing the door and his footsteps going up the stairs. A lone figure sat on a filthy pallet, wearing a soiled leather tunic. But underneath the grime and dirt, his hair was still golden and his green eyes flashed with resentment.

Jaime Lannister looked up at me and his face twisted in a mocking grin. “The last time I saw you, you were heading to the Wall to join the Night’s Watch and yet here you are, with your brother’s crown upon your head.” He laughed bitterly, “We both broke our oaths, but while I was reviled for it, you were proclaimed king. Why do you think that is, _Your Grace_?”

I leaned on the wooden door and shrugged. “I wasn’t the one who stabbed someone behind his back.”

“The brave, honorable Jon Snow,” he sneered. “They say you’ve slain the entire Bolton army single-handedly. They even call you _The Prince That Was Promised_ whatever the hell that means. It must feel good to be worshipped after all those years being looked down upon as Ned Stark’s bastard.”

I leveled him with a cool look. “I’m not here to trade insults with you, Ser Jaime.”

“Then why are you here?” the older man asked. “To see for yourself just how far the Lannisters have fallen?” 

“I do not make light of the misfortunes of others,” I said curtly. “I’m not a Lannister.”

“Not from what I hear,” Jaime snorted. 

I pointedly ignored his malicious remark. “I’m here to discuss terms with you regarding your release.”

Any man would have jumped at the chance to free himself from this damp and stench-filled cell. Any _sane_ man. But Jaime Lannister only shrugged. “Who says I want to be released? Maybe I’ve always wanted to be the shield that guards the realms of men. Maybe I wanted to pledge my life and honor to the Night’s Watch. For this night and all the nights to come. You must be familiar with those vows. Did I get it right, _Your Grace_?”

“I will grant you a pardon and restore you as the Lord of Casterly Rock,” I continued as if he hasn’t spoken. “And in return, you will bend the knee to the crown and your new liege lord.”

“Why don’t you give it to my traitorous brother instead?” Jaime spat. “I heard he’s thrown in his lot with the dragons.”

“Funny thing is that Lord Tyrion said the same,” I said quietly. “He said that you’re the rightful heir to Casterly Rock.” 

“Is your beloved sister aware of these terms?” Jaime asked. “From what I heard she’s bent on destroying the Lannisters.”

An image of Arya came into my mind and for a moment I felt a sense of uncertainty.

“She won’t be happy,” I said grimly. “But she would understand.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Jaime remarked. “I saw your sister at King’s Landing. She’s very beautiful and very, very ruthless. In a way, she reminds me of my own beloved sister.”

“Do not compare her to Cersei Lannister,” I said coldly. “They are nothing alike.”

“Tell me, does she call you _dear brother_ when you fuck her?” Jaime said bluntly. 

"Cersei used to call me that every time we were in bed together," he continued. "And it made me desire her even more." 

I knew he was only goading me but try as I might to keep my face blank, I could feel the heat rising in my face because I could not deny the truth behind his perverse question. 

He laughed softly. “What is it about pretty sisters that drive a man to madness?”

 _Silence_. I could not answer him even if I wanted to for I could not explain myself the kind of hold that Arya has on me. I’m the king, but she rules me — body and soul. 

“For as long as I can remember, all that mattered to me was Cersei,” he continued, his tone carefully measured. “She was so beautiful and I loved her with all that I am. Her happiness was my happiness. When she suffered, I suffered more. I did everything for her. And there was nothing that I could deny her.”

“And yet you killed her.” 

“When she learned that your forces have breached the gates, she ordered her men to set the entire city to flames." He drew a long, anguished breath. “As she stood there condemning hundreds of thousands of innocent people to their deaths, I finally realized that all this time I loved a monster.”

I swallowed hard, not quite able to believe it. But it was clear from the pain etched on his face that Jaime Lannister was telling the truth. 

“There are those women who could easily wrap a man around her pretty little fingers and tear him apart, piece by piece,” he continued. “Cersei was one of them. And your sister too.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Because I see a little of myself in you,” Jaime answered, sounding amused and a little puzzled by his own statement. “I once dreamt of glory too. I wanted to become a hero like Ser Arthur Dayne but in the end I had become the Smiling Knight instead.”

“It’s not too late,” I told him, “You can still make amends if you accept the crown’s terms.”

But the older man only shook his head before retreating further into the dark cell. “I didn’t want Casterly Rock then. And I certainly don’t want it now.” 

Jaime Lannister, it seems, has long ceased to care. He no longer cared whether he live or die. Casterly Rock could burn to the ground and still he wouldn’t care. He had resigned himself to spending the rest of his days at the Wall as penance for his sins. 

For without his beloved sister by his side, nothing matters anymore. 

______

I entered the guest chamber to find Arya seated behind a table, surrounded by ledgers. Even back in Winterfell, Arya has always displayed an aptitude towards figures so it didn’t surprise me that she has taken quite an interest in managing the crown’s finances. It was one of the tasks that I didn’t enjoy as Lord Commander and I’m more than happy to leave it at her capable hands.

She looked up and regarded me steadily. “I’ve heard from some of the men that you went to Wolf’s Den to meet with Jaime Lannister.” 

I nodded, knowing that it would be futile to lie to her as she would sooner find out anyway. “I asked him to pledge loyalty to the crown in return for a pardon.”

“He’s a Lannister!” Arya hissed. “You should have had his head on a spike instead you offer him a pardon?”

“We cannot continue to live in the past, Arya,” I said quietly. “It won’t change what happened to our family. All we can do is move forward and try to make the future better.”

“The past?” She looked pale and her voice was trembling. “If it’s in the past then why do I feel like I’m living it over and over again? Every goddamned day! How can you ask me to forget about what happened to our family? When every night when I close my eyes I see their faces, begging for mercy which the Lannisters cruelly withhold from them? How? Tell me how, Jon!”

My own temper flared. “What would you have me do then Arya? Tell me? The Westerlands are on the brink of a rebellion. And we could not afford a war amongst ourselves, not with the dead at our doors!”

“I told you already,” she fairly shouted. “I can take care of it!” 

“We’ve been through this before, Arya,” I sighed, raking a hand through my hair. “I can’t just kill anyone who dare rebel against the crown.”

“Why not?”

“Then that wouldn’t make me any different from Joffrey and Ramsay,” I said, feeling agitated. “I’m not like them, I’m not a monster…”

“Then let me be the monster,” she said softly, her expression intent. “I don’t care Jon, really. I’ve killed so many, what’s one more or two?”

She stood up and knelt in front of me, laying her dark head upon my lap. “I’m not going to kill them all, you know. Just Lord Banefort and Lord Crakehall and Lord Marbrand. The rest of the lords aren’t stupid. They know what would happen and they will kneel.”

_I finally realized that all this time I loved a monster._

I cupped her face in my burned hand, her cheeks soft and warm beneath my palm. “I would not let you become a monster,” I said as I studied her face in the glow of the firelight. 

She returned my gaze with cool intensity that told me how serious she is about her plans to assassinate the leaders of the rebellion. Who was this woman, and what had she done with Arya? Times like this when she felt almost like a stranger. A beautiful witch that has the power to twist me into every which way she wants to.

_There are women who could easily wrap a man around her pretty little fingers and tear him apart, piece by piece._

“I just want to help you, Jon, please just this once,” she murmured as she slowly lifted my burned hand from her face and sucked my middle finger, hard. “Please, please, please…”

Her deft hands quickly undid my trousers and my hips flexed involuntarily when her fingers brushed the length of my cock as she took me deep into her mouth, gently sucking me. 

I groaned in pleasure. “Just Lord Banefort and Lord Crakehall and Lord Marbrand. No one else. Promise me, Arya…”

She looked up at me with heavy-lidded eyes, her mouth curved in a wicked smile. “I promise, _dear brother_ …”

_What is it about pretty sisters that drive a man to madness?_

______

We arrived in Winterfell a fortnight later. 

The restoration of the castle was nearly complete and Winterfell once again stood — mighty and proud — against the snowy landscape.

At the sight of the castle, I was filled with a sense of contentment. Gone were the days when I lived under the disapproving gaze of Lady Catelyn. Gone were the days when I chafed behind its stone walls, counting the days when I could finally leave and go my own way. 

Now, Winterfell belongs to me. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I finally belonged here.

As we entered the flagstoned courtyard, I saw Sansa running towards us, her auburn hair flying behind her. Her face was alight with excitement and in her hands, she clutched a missive. 

“What is it, Sansa?” Arya asked as she alight from her horse, her dark brows furrowed in concern.

In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, Sansa hugged Arya tightly. “Bran is alive! And he’s finally coming home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always felt like there's a parallel between Jon/Arya and Jaime/Cersei and I wanted to explore the darker side of their relationship. 
> 
> And what do you guys think would happen now that Bran is back?
> 
> Reviews are highly appreciated ❤


	17. Sansa

It was a cold, cold morning, even more so than the usual, as I hurried past the armory towards the godswood. Winter is upon us and a thick layer of snow covered the grounds, cradling the entire castle in its snug embrace.

I walked to the center of the godswood to where the ancient weirwood tree stood with its bone-white trunk and blood-red leaves. Closing my eyes, I breathed in the faint scent of moist earth and pine wood. It was the smell of _home._

Since the northern and southern armies arrived in Winterfell, I’ve not had a moment’s peace. With the castle overrun with lords and knights and squires and armorers, it was my duty as the _de facto_ Lady of Winterfell to see to their needs. And it seems that not an hour passes by without something that requires my attention — a young squire falling ill with hay fever, a fresh supply of mutton that needs to be salted, a vat of porridge that was burnt by a scullery maid and the list goes on. 

For a moment I just stood there in the cold, grey light and relished the quiet. _I’m home, Father,_ I prayed in silence, as the wizened eyes of the weirwood tree stared back at me, _and so is Jon and Arya and soon, Bran._

After everything that I had lost, my father’s infinite wisdom, my mother’s warmth, Robb’s smile… all of which I’ve taken for granted until it was no more, the thought of seeing my little brother again filled me with tender joy.

I carefully opened the parchment sealed with plain black ink and read the words which was written in my brother’s familiar scrawl.

_Dearest sister,_

_By the time you read this letter, I will already be on my way home. I’ve taken refuge at Castle Black after a long sojourn beyond the Wall and Lord Commander Tollett has generously provided us with an escort to Winterfell._

_In less than a fortnight, I will be home. There is much that I have to tell you._

_Bran_

Suddenly, a masculine laugh pierced the quiet, followed by a woman’s voice that I quickly recognized as Arya’s.

“Hurry, we don’t have much time,” Arya said, sounding slightly out of breath as if she had been running. “The guests will be waking up soon…” 

I let out a small gasp, feeling my heart beating frantically against my chest.

 _Could it be that Arya is having an affair?_ I wondered if this was the reason behind her broken betrothal to Lord Willas Tyrell. 

An image of the darkly handsome Lord Baratheon appeared on my mind and how his eyes seem to follow Arya whenever they were in the same room.

Arya then appeared, her slim figure silhouetted against the early morning light. A second later, a tall and dark-haired man followed, his handsome face wreathed in smiles.

I exhaled in sharp relief. _Of course, it’s only Jon._

It was not a lovers' tryst after all. Likely, Arya thought of a mad scheme and dragged Jon along with her, just like she used to do when we were children. 

I looked at their hands clasped tightly between them and smiled fondly. They’ve always been close. 

They both stumbled into a halt upon seeing me.

“Sansa…” Arya said, looking at me steadily. “What are you doing here so early?”

I shrugged. “I just wanted a bit of quiet before the day starts.”

At their prolonged silence, I quirked a curious brow at them. 

Jon cleared his throat and murmured. “We were going to say our morning prayer.”

At the same time that Arya said, “We were going to the hot spring.”

 _They have a secret._ It was there in the way they glanced at each other with silent understanding.

“Well, I will leave you to it then,” I said, smiling uncertainly.

Arya nodded briskly. “We’ll see you at the morning meal.”

I glanced at Jon but he was looking away from me, his cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Alright, don’t stay out long,” I said, slipping past them on the way out of the grove. 

I shivered against the chilly air and tried not to let it bother me, tried not to feel bad about being left out of their secret. 

_They’ve always been close._

______

That evening a feast was held at the great hall to welcome our allies. The lords and ladies moved around the center of the room while a group of musicians played their instruments with much vigor, if not skills. 

Large wooden tables have been set up around the hall and were laden with roasted mutton and skewers of pigeon and quail and pheasant. There were several kinds of meat pies and vegetables seasoned with Dornish spices. Freshly baked lemon cakes were served along with poached pears and figs while hot mulled wine and spiced cider flowed copiously.

“The alliance seems to be working well,” I said as I walked up behind Jon who was standing at the edge of the room.

He nodded. “The cage of wights that the Night’s Watch sent to King’s Landing was enough to convince them.”

I followed his eyes to see Arya dancing with the young Lord Dayne who was looking at her with eyes that sparkled with admiration.

 _Arya Horseface_ we used to call her. She wasn’t ugly, really. She was just… _awkward_. With her scruffy hair and long face and gangly arms. 

But she has blossomed into a rare beauty. Her shining dark hair now framed a delicately sculpted face which was dominated by a pair of large smoky eyes and soft pink lips. Her figure is still slender but her angles has softened into graceful curves. 

_I wish mother could see her now._ I thought wistfully, remembering how she used to despair about Arya’s unladylike manners.

“Lord Dayne seems to be quite smitten,” I said softly. “I expect he would be offering for Arya soon.” 

“Too young,” Jon said, his tone surly. 

“He’s of an age,” I merely smiled. “And they say women have more freedom in Dorne which I’m sure Arya will appreciate.”

“Too far."

I looked around the great hall and quickly spotted Lord Baratheon who seems to tower above the rest of the guests. His dark brows were furrowed together as he looked at the young pair dancing in the center of the room. 

“Lord Baratheon seems interested as well,” I continued, unable to contain my amusement at the Lord of Storm's End's obvious jealousy. “If you ask me, he’s the better match.”

“Too tall.”

“I beg your pardon?” 

“He’s too tall,” Jon repeated in the same surly tone. 

“Too tall?” I gave a soft laugh. “He’s a great lord. And they seem to get along well enough.”

Jon did not reply. He simply continued to look at Lord Dayne who was twirling Arya around, making her laugh with delight.

“You do know she’s to marry soon, right?” I said calmly. “I’ve received offers from Gawen Glover and even Harrion Karstark.” I reached out to lay a gentle hand on his arm. “I still think a marriage to a southern lord will be more favorable but I would understand if you’d rather she marry someone who is a bit closer to home…”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Jon cut in, his attention focused elsewhere. “There’s something important I need to discuss with Arya.”

But before I could respond, Jon was already walking towards the center of the room. He weaved his way past other dancing couples until he finally reached Arya who was still dancing with Lord Dayne. 

A moment later, the young lord of Starfall returned to his seat, looking nonplussed.

"Good evening, my Lady Stark,” a familiar voice murmured behind me. 

I felt the hair on the back of my neck prickling as I turned to face Lord Baelish. “My lord, how are you enjoying the feast?”

“Well done as always, sweetling,” said Lord Baelish, his small, beady eyes roaming the hall. “The alliance seems to be holding up. Your brother has a mind for politics, I’ll give him that.”

“Too bad he’s letting his emotions get the better of him when it comes to Lady Arya,” he continued. “The alliance with the Tyrells would have secured his position.”

“My brother’s position is secured, my lord,” I said, trying to sound firm. “The northern lords have pledged their allegiance to him.”

“Maybe so,” Lord Baelish nodded. “But will they still support him when they find out about his little secret?”

“Everyone has their own secrets, my lord,” I managed to say. "Even you.”

He laughed at that. “I’m afraid not this kind of secret, my dear.”

I felt a sense of dread wash over me as Lord Baelish leaned towards me, his eyes looking directly at Jon who was holding Arya against his chest as a minstrel sang “Two Hearts that Beat as One.” 

“Look at them,” he murmured. “Do you really think he’ll let her marry another man? Let another man touch her… bed her?”

“They’ve always been close,” I said quietly. “Even as children, they were closer than the rest of us.”

I felt his hands settle on my shoulders. “Look at Lord Harrion and his sister Lady Alys and then look at your brother and sister.” He chuckled softly, “Do you see the difference?”

I looked at Lord Harrion who was looking at his younger sister with warmth and affection. Lady Alys grinned at him and said something that made him laugh, his gruff voice booming across the room.

Slowly, I turned to gaze at Jon who was holding Arya close to him, his grey eyes burning directly into hers. Arya tiptoed forward and whispered against his ear and whatever it is that Arya said made his cheeks turn a bit pink. 

“They’ve always been close,” I repeated, feeling a bit nauseated. “Please, my lord, you misunderstand them.”

“Very well then,” Lord Baelish said calmly. Too calmly. “If you say so.”

I held my breath as he gave my shoulders a squeeze before turning around and greeting Lord Royce and Lady Waynwood. 

My stomach felt queasy, unable to comprehend the malicious — nay, _revolting_ — insinuation that Lord Baelish has made against Jon and Arya. 

_No, no, no no no…_ I thought, feeling a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. _He's got it all wrong._

______

I’m jolted awake by a sudden noise. My room is dark as the burning candle on my bedside has long since gone out.

 _It must be nearly dawn,_ I thought as I looked out the windows at the grey clouds.

From outside I could hear a door closing shut and footsteps walking along the hall. I gingerly got out of bed and pressed my ear against the door, straining to hear the voices outside.

“Quiet,” I heard Arya’s voice, her words slightly muffled. “Sansa might hear us.”

Then came Jon’s reply. “I swear, you will be the death of me.”

Arya giggled as their footsteps slowly receded from my hearing. 

My heart squeezed tightly and I urged myself to go back to sleep. Instead I pushed the wooden door open and quickly followed them, keeping my steps light. 

They move quickly, down the stairs to the kitchen where they opened the door that leads to the back of the castle. Their pace quickens and I find myself walking faster, faster… until finally I reached the godswood. 

It was still dark but the moonlight seemed to reflect upon the dark pools, bathing the weirwood tree in a faint glow. I stood beside a tall oak tree, keeping myself hidden in its deep shadows, my heart pounding loudly against my chest.

Jon pulled Arya towards the weirwood tree, pinning her between him and the trunk. Then he leaned forward and started nibbling the side of her neck, his hands feeling up her chest. 

“You were rude to Ned tonight,” Arya murmured, her hands reaching down to unbutton Jon’s trousers. “How many times do I have to tell you that he is a friend?”

“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay away from you,” Jon said gruffly. “The same goes for the smith.” 

“You’re impossible, you know that?” Arya said softly.

Jon only grunted in response as he pushed Arya’s linen nightgown from her shoulders, exposing her pale breasts. I watched as he played with them, pinching her nipples and rubbing them with his palms.

“Oh gods…” Arya breathed.

I wanted to get away from there, from them, but I could not seem to move. For an endless moment, I just stood there as if my feet were rooted to the ground.

Slowly, Jon hiked up Arya’s skirt and kneeled in front of her and started licking her… there. 

Arya cried aloud, her whole body arching against the tree until only her toes were touching the ground. Her knees were shaking wildly, her whole body caught up in the sensation of having Jon’s mouth on her. 

“Ssshhh, you’re too loud…” Jon said, his voice amused.

“I don’t care…" Arya moaned. "Let them hear... let them all fucking hear." 

_No. No. No, no no no, this couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening._

Suddenly, nothing made sense anymore. Everything felt wrong. It was as if my heart was breaking into a hundred pieces. I wanted my old life back. I wanted my family back. I wanted everything to be the same as it was before.

I began to quiver and I felt tears stinging my eyes as I stumbled backward, turning away from the wretched scene.

By the time I reached my room I was already drenched in cold sweat and my entire body was shaking uncontrollably. And there as I lay in the darkness, I buried my face in my hands and began to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sansa! I always felt that she'll be the one most affected by Jon and Arya's relationship because she seems to thrive within social boundaries (book-Sansa, actually). And I think she just wants to have things back as they were before. 
> 
> She'll definitely have a hard time accepting the change in Jon and Arya's relationship. How do you think she will react in the next chapter?
> 
> Bran will be coming soon and definitely, he will shake things up a bit. Not yet sure how to do the big reveal though... 
> 
> Hope you continue reading ❤


	18. Arya

I’m bored.

Bored of the endless chatter about war and politics.

Bored of the lords and ladies who simper banal praises in my face and whisper nasty tittle-tattle behind my back.

I looked around the great hall, at the massive tapestries which hung from the high stone walls, all of them depicting a snarling grey direwolf. How many meals have I eaten here? A hundred? Maybe more. It was all too familiar, and yet it was not the same. Like a collection of stone and clay and mortar that didn’t quite fit together.

That fateful day when I boarded the _Titan’s Daughter_ , I’ve given up all hopes of ever returning home. Braavos gave me a chance to begin a new life away from the horrors that has befallen my family. By becoming a different person, I thought I could free myself of the pain, the anger, and the overwhelming sense of loss. But no matter how many faces I’ve worn, there’s a part of me that would always be Arya Stark. There’s a part of me that would always belong to Winterfell. 

I could almost see my father sitting at the long wooden table near the hearth, surrounded by his bannermen. He often said that the blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks. _If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die._

But the Faceless Men ascribe to an entirely different sort of moral code or lack thereof. To them a dead man’s a dead man. It matters not how he dies — by sword, by poison, or by accident — so long as he does. For a time I played the part of a faithful servant to the Many-Faced God and learned all the grim ways to kill a man. If there’s one thing that I could do well, it is to kill a man before he could even utter a single word.

And now Jon was sitting in the same place, looking every bit like our father. Even with his quiet demeanor and in plain dark clothes, he still managed to exude power, a sense of invincibility. It was no secret that even the southern lords were more likely to heed his command than that of the dragon queen. Not only because he was a man. Not only because of his known prowess in the battle field. But also because he was Ned Stark’s son. 

It was the thing that my mother hated the most about Jon, that he looked so much like our father with his dark hair and solemn face compared to Robb and Bran and Rickon with their auburn hair and Tully blue eyes. But more than looks, Jon also shares our father’s strict moral code. And I know that he expected the same of me. 

But I’m no longer Ned’s little girl. I’m no longer the little girl that used to run around this castle. I haven’t been that girl for a long time now. Because every mask that I’ve put on has left a mark on me. An indelible mark that has stayed long after I’ve placed the mask back in that dark chamber beneath the temple. Like a prism, the faces of Cat and Beth and Mercy and many others each became a reflection of myself. 

So I’m sitting here, a stranger in my own home. Almost by its own volition, my hand reached up to touch the back of my neck, trying to find that flap of skin, certain that I was only wearing a mask. But there was none.

“Are you well, my lady?” 

I looked up to see Lord Petyr Baelish, who was seated beside my sister Sansa, looking at me intently.

Everything about Lord Baelish was… unremarkable. He was of average height and build, his hair was the color of mud, and his eyes were a dull green. He was the kind of man that could easily be overlooked, something that he likely uses to his own advantage. 

But I’ve known men like Lord Baelish. Men who care nothing about others. He was as corrupt and amoral as the Lannisters and their allies. The only difference is that he’s better at hiding it. 

“I’m fine, my lord,” I said. “Just a bit of a chill, that’s all.”

“Of course,” he said gravely. “After having been gone for a long time, I’m sure the cold must be quite a shock to you.”

“I’m a Stark, Lord Baelish,” I said dryly. “As people were wont to say, we have ice running through our veins.”

Lord Baelish laughed, even as his green eyes glinted with malice. “Of course, but it seems not everyone can survive the harsh climate of the north.” He looked at me over the rim of his goblet. “It’s a shame what happened to Lord Banefort.”

I could feel the gazes of the other lords and ladies upon me. No doubt, they’re thinking of that argument I had with Lord Banefort at Riverrun not long ago. And wondering if I had anything to do with his sudden bout of illness and subsequent death. 

_They are not mistaken._

It was easy enough to rub the seeds of castor plant into Lord Banefort's clothes resulting in an allergic reaction similar to that of a common cold. And even easier to slip the same seeds into his morning meal causing his health to decline even further. By the time we reached Winterfell there was nothing that the maester could do to save him. 

“It’s not uncommon for a man to catch a cold in this kind of weather,” I looked at Lord Baelish with steady eyes, taking a bite of poached pears and letting its honeyed warmth slide down my throat. “I do hope you have a stronger constitution, my lord. I would hate for you to catch a _cold_ as well.”

Lord Baelish quirked a brow at me, clearly wondering if that had been a veiled threat. “Your concern is quite touching, my lady.”

I bestowed upon him a gracious smile that would have made Izembaro proud. 

“Really, my lord,” Sansa said softly, “Must we discuss such an unpleasant topic over dinner?”

“Pardon me, Lady Sansa,” Lord Baelish said, promptly turning his attention back to her. “I did not mean to ruin such a lovely night with ill talk.”

I looked at them and wondered idly if they were lovers. From what I’ve learned, Sansa has spent the last five years in the Eyrie under Lord Baelish’s protection. And I couldn’t help but notice that there’s a sort of intimacy between them. Could I have mistaken the situation? Could it be that Sansa is not an unwilling pawn to his games but an ally? 

______

I sat before a vanity mirror, waiting for Jon to finish his discussion with the war council. I drew a silver comb slowly through my hair, feeling a distinct sense of unease as I look at my reflection. 

For a moment I closed my eyes and I’m back at that chamber beneath the temple with all those faces gazing down on me. I could almost feel the sharp pain of the knife against my scalp and smell the tangy scent of my own blood as it trickles down my face. 

Since that night when I first took on a new face, I’ve been anxious around mirrors. Afraid of the dead mask that I know will be staring back at me. A mask worn in such a way that it was much like my true face.

I reached out, almost tentatively, to touch the image of a child-woman staring back at me, with her porcelain skin and sleek dark hair that frames a face of surpassing loveliness. 

It never mattered to me if I was beautiful or not. But I wanted to be beautiful for Jon. It doesn’t matter how anyone else saw me. Only Jon.

Sometimes I wondered what he’d made of me lately. The intimacy we shared was so intense that there are times when I feel like I no longer belonged to myself. At night, he would whisper words in my ears, words that no brother should ever say to his sister. He demanded things from me, things that I’m not sure I’m able to give. Try as I might, I could not imagine myself as a wife and mother. And even more so, a queen.

There was a slight knock at the door and I turned around to see Sansa in the doorway, wearing the same midnight blue gown she wore at dinner. 

“May I come in?” 

Without waiting for an answer, Sansa closed the door and stood behind me, taking the silver comb from my hand and carefully running it through my hair.

Growing up, it was Sansa who was the beautiful one. She was gentle and pious and kind. She was always well-coiffed and dressed in the finest gowns. I was simply Arya Horseface. The reckless one, the one who would rather play swords with my brothers than practice my stitching.

We may be as different as night and day, but in this moment, we share the same kind of feeling — that bittersweet joy of finally being home but knowing that things would never be the same again.

Looking at the mirror, I could see the same image reflected in our eyes. The image of our father, on his knees, as Joffrey sentenced him to die. Sansa was standing right there beside that little shit and his evil mother when Ser Ilyn cut off father’s head. And I could still hear her weeping and begging for mercy as Yoren dragged me away from that dreadful place. 

She has grown even more beautiful since the time I last saw her. At seventeen, she is a woman full grown. Her hair has turned a deeper shade of auburn and her complexion remains pure and unblemished. But there was an emptiness about her that reminds me of a porcelain doll. 

“I saw you dancing with Lord Gawen earlier,” Sansa said as she pulled back my hair and tied it with a velvet ribbon. “Deepwood Motte is not too far from here, just a day’s ride away, in fact.”

"Not again, Sansa," I said, rolling my eyes. "We’ve been through this before.”

“You’re no longer a child, Arya,” she said earnestly. “It’s high time for you to marry and have a family of your own.” 

“I told you already so many times that I’m not going to marry any of these lords,” I said, annoyed. “It is only you who keeps on entertaining their offers!”

“What is the problem, Arya?” she asked. “You have the pick of the most eligible lords in the land and yet you are complaining.”

“Then you marry one of them!”

Sansa flinched as if she’s been slapped and I quickly regretted my impulsive words.

“As you well know, I’m already married,” she said tersely. “And if you need any more proof that not everyone has the luxury of choosing her own husband, you need only to look at me.”

“I’m sorry, Sansa,” I said, feeling contrite. “But you just have to accept that I’m not going to marry any of these men.”

But Sansa only continued as if I haven’t spoken. “Lord Baratheon seems quite fond of you, he looks so much like Lord Renly that …”

I sighed. “Sansa, listen to me. I can’t marry any of them because Jon and …” 

“… he hasn’t offered yet but I’m quite sure it’s just a matter of time,” Sansa added hurriedly. “Then there’s Lord Dayne, who is considered one of the best…”

“Jon and I … we’re together.” 

Sansa gave a nervous laugh. “Don’t be silly! Jon is our brother.”

“Listen to me, Sansa,” I repeated. “I love him and we’re to…”

“No! I don’t want to hear it!” she burst out, her voice shaking. “Whatever it is that you’re going to tell me, I don’t want to hear it.”

She rose from her chair and started pacing around the room. “The thing between you and Jon, it has to stop, do you understand me? If this gets out, if the northern lords get wind of this… Dear god, just imagine the scandal!”

“After everything we've lost, you stand here worrying about what other people would think?”

She regarded me coldly. “Why do you always have to ruin everything?” 

“Oh, I understand now…” I said, unable to keep my voice from getting louder. “This isn’t about Jon or me or this family. This is about you. This is about you being queen, just admit it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t think I don’t know about you and Lord Baelish’s plans,” I snapped. “I’ve read his letter to the Tyrells about his plans to depose Jon and proclaim you Queen in the North.”

Meeting Sansa’s surprised gaze, I continued savagely. “How about now that Bran is alive? It must have put quite a crimp on your plans. Or would you just slowly poison him like you do our dear cousin? Sickly boys, no one will be surprised if they die.”

“I can smell it, you know. Sweetsleep, isn’t it?" I stood up and walked slowly towards her. "Do you want me to tell the Lords of the Vale about it? I’m sure they won’t take it kindly, you killing their young lord.”

“As I’ve said I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sansa said, her lovely face a composed mask. “Lord Arryn trusts me implicitly and the maester has…” 

“Do not hide behind the lady of Winterfell act,” I said, glaring at her. “If you want to be queen then at least have the guts to own up to it.”

Suddenly, a quiet voice interrupted the tense silence. “What is going on here?”

Jon looked at me and I saw that he understood the situation. _Sansa knows_. 

"Sansa..." 

“Do you forget that she’s your sister?” Sansa asked quietly. “That you share the blood of our father?” 

“I love Arya,” Jon said, looking steadily at Sansa. “And I will marry her.” 

“Marry her? Are you mad?” she said, her face bewildered. “Please, it’s not too late to stop this madness…”

“It’s too late, Sansa,” Jon said in a sober tone. “I’ve bedded her, Arya could be with child.” 

Sansa grew very still that for a moment I thought she was going to faint. But then she looked Jon straight in the eyes and said in a near whisper. “If Robb was alive, he’d kill you for this.”

And straightening her shoulders, Sansa fastened an invisible cloak of composure around herself before swiftly walking out the door. 

______

I found Sansa at the godswood, huddled beneath the heart tree. As I sat beside her on a mossy rock, it felt as if we were surrounded by the ghosts of our lost childhood.

“I won't apologize for loving Jon,” I said, reaching out to take her hand. "But I know how much it upsets you and for that I’m sorry.”

“I guess, I’m not really surprised,” Sansa smiled faintly. “You’ve always adored him. And he… well, it was clear even then that he loved you the most.” She heaved a sigh. “Still, it would be quite a scandal but our family will persevere. We always have.” 

"And the other things I said, I don't really mean it," I continued, squeezing her hand tighter. "I know you won't betray our family." 

“Believe it or not, Arya, I don’t want to be queen. Not anymore. All I want is to be left in peace.”

I was surprised to see that she was trembling, not with anger, but with fear. 

“Why are you so afraid of him, Sansa?”

“Don’t you understand?” she murmured. “We’re just pawns in his game. We are just pieces for him to move about the board. And in the end, he would win. He always does.”

“That’s not true,” I said, frowning a little. “You’re Lady Sansa of House Stark, you have nothing to fear from him.”

She gave a mirthless laugh. “I’m Lady Lannister.”

“You don’t have to be Lady Lannister,” I told her. “Jon has talked to Lord Tyrion and as the marriage was not consummated, you can have it declared null.”

“I can’t…”

“What do you mean you can’t?” I asked.

“I can no longer prove that the marriage was not consummated.” 

Silence falls between us for what seems like an eternity.

“Was it Lord Baelish?” 

Sansa shook her head. “It was Harrold Hardyng. He was Robert’s heir. Lord Baelish planned to marry me off to him so that I would become the Lady of the Vale. He tutored me on how to flirt with him, how to tease him, how to make him want me…” Her blue eyes suddenly filled with tears. “But I was disguised as a bastard and so Harrold, he said I was good enough to bed, but not to wed. And by the time one of Lord Baelish’s guards killed him, it was already too late…” 

I looked at my beautiful sister. My beautiful sister who dreamed of marrying a handsome lord, of living in a beautiful castle by the sea, of raising a brood of well-mannered children. The sadness in her blue eyes was unbearable.

“Say his name, Sansa,” I whispered. “Say his name and I swear to you that his life is forfeit.”

A light snow began to fall and tiny white flakes slowly covered the red leaves of the thousands old weirwood. And both of us sat in the midst of it all, our hands clasped tightly together. 

Then Sansa’s quiet voice pierced the eerie silence.

"Petyr Baelish."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, finally I got to update! Work has been a bit crazy lately... 
> 
> Aside from Jon and Arya (obviously), I'm really looking forward to seeing Arya reunite with her sister. After everything that they have gone through, I'm sure they would have a better understanding of each other. 
> 
> As for Sansa, I really have a bad feeling regarding her so-called "controversial" chapter in _Winds_. I feel like the whole Ramsay thing on the show would still happen in the books, but with Harrold Hardyng instead. I do hope I'm wrong cos I really like her (book-Sansa, in particular). 
> 
> I hope you like this chapter. Your thoughts are much appreciated ❤️


	19. Jon - Part One

I have no memories of my mother. But sometimes I would dream of her. And in my dreams she was beautiful and highborn. And her eyes were kind.

 _Foolish dreams_. I knew that it was far more likely that she was a village girl that my father met during the war. For despite the nasty rumours, I could not imagine my father bedding a whore.

It was at age five when I first learned I was a bastard. I was playing swords with Robb when he hit me at the side of my face. I remember running to Lady Catelyn and calling her mother, expecting her to wrap her arms around me and soothe my hurts like she does to Robb.

But she only looked at me coldly and said, "Do not ever call me mother again. I'm not your mother."

Over the years, Lady Catelyn treated me with either cold indifference or silent animosity. She never showed outright hostility but she made it clear that she resented my presence in Winterfell. Still, my father didn't send me away. In fact, he made sure that I was afforded the same education as my true-born siblings.

Robb treated me no different than Bran and Rickon. But there were times when I would see him looking at me with a flicker of guilt in his eyes. For despite our shared blood, it is only him that has our father's name. And that made all the difference in the world.

Sansa, on the other hand, was the very image of Lady Catelyn. She has always been a proper lady and not one to dip her dainy toes outside the bounds. It was clear that she felt embarrassed at having a bastard brother. But unlike her lady mother, Sansa was never unkind.

Bran and Rickon were both too young to really care. To them I was simply their big brother who would sneak them sweets before bedtime and build them forts made out of twigs and carry them on my shoulders as they shriek with childish glee.

But Arya... she was _different._

I remember the first time I was allowed to visit her in the nursery. It was already a few weeks before father let me see the newborn babe. I was expecting a pretty baby with reddish hair and blue eyes like Sansa but then there she was... a tiny little thing with dark fuzzy hair and grey eyes. Just like mine.

I remember reaching out to touch her tiny hands and feeling her fingers immediately curling against mine. And when Lady Catelyn tried to pull our hands apart, Arya started howling like a banshee. It was only when she fell asleep a couple of hours later that she finally let go, a contented smile on her cherubic face.

That moment was a portent of things to come. Growing up, we gravitate towards each other. We were always together, always laughing at our own private jokes, always finding comfort in each other's presence, always understanding each other completely.

Although we shared the same Stark features, we were in truth different. While people would often mock me for being a sullen bastard, Arya was quick to laugh. She possessed a certain _je ne sais quoi_ that drew people to her like moths to a flame. And while I preferred to keep to myself, Arya made friends with everyone from village children to young squires and even our father's grizzled men-at-arms.

And yet like her, I was a misfit. For despite my father's efforts, I spent my entire life dealing with the stigma of my bastardy. I tried my best to overcome it by keeping my head down and leading a blameless life. But still people continue to scorn me, just waiting for the moment when I would finally show the taint of my bastard blood.

Except I'm not a bastard. But a Targaryen by virtue of blood and name.

After living my entire life as Ned Stark's bastard son, it turns out that I'm in fact the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. _How is that possible?_

 _You may not have my name, but you have my blood._ My father used to tell me.

And how true those words turned out to be.

It was nearly dawn, just as the early morning light takes on a diaphanous glow, when Bran arrived in Winterfell accompanied by a slender, curly-haired young woman and four men wearing the black cloaks of the Night's Watch.

The last time I saw Bran, he was lying motionless on his bed, frail and hollow-eyed. Maester Luwin has said that even if he somehow manages to wake from his coma, still he will never be able to walk again. And that snowy morning when I left Winterfell, I had resigned myself to the thought that it would be the last time I would see my little brother.

_Who would've thought that he would be the one to survive while both Robb and Rickon are gone?_

He is thirteen by now, barely on the cusp of manhood but his red-rimmed eyes reminds me of the wizened eyes carved into the thousand-years old weirwood tree in the godswood. He was reed-thin, deathly pale and greasy-haired, but his eyes seems to burn from within, giving me the uncomfortable sensation that he could see right through me.

I had no idea what happened to Bran in the years since Winterfell was burned to the ground and why he chose to live in the wilderness instead of seeking refuge at the Wall. But with haunting certainty, I know that this boy with the burning eyes is no longer the little brother that I used to carry around my shoulders, his voice ringing out with laughter. In truth, this boy seems almost... inhuman.

But Arya and Sansa didn't seem to notice as they hugged their little brother fiercely, their eyes brimming with tears. And for a moment we were all children again, safe behind the walls of Winterfell. 

"Where the hell have you been?" Arya cried. "We thought you were dead!"

Bran only closed his eyes and laid back against the fur blanket. "It's a long story, sister."

"It doesn't matter now," Sansa murmured, putting her slender arms around Bran and pulling him close. "You're home now."

"What is it like out there beyond the Wall?" Arya said excitedly. "And who is that girl with you? Is she your lover?"

"Arya!" Sansa exclaimed, her voice clearly scandalized.

"What do you think?" Arya said as she sat beside me, laying her head against my shoulder. "They were alone in the woods for god knows how long."

Absently, I stroked Arya's hair, running the silky strands against my fingers. It was good to see her like this, her face shining with happiness.

I looked up to see Bran staring at us, his shrunken lips pursed in a knowing fashion.

 _Did Sansa already told him?_ No matter how, it was clear that he knows about my relationship with Arya. But from the amusement in his eyes, he didn't seem to mind. _I hope._

"Hush now, Arya," I said, "Bran must be tired. Why don't we let him rest and we can talk on the morrow."

Bran then turned to me with a piercing glance. "I'm tired. But first there is something I need to show you, Jon."

"I'm sure whatever it is, it can wait," Sansa said gently. "You need to rest and ..."

"Jon has already waited his entire life," Bran said, shaking his head. "I won't make him wait any longer." He then looked at me and said in a firm tone. "Gather your council, Jon. And meet me in the crypts."

Our eyes met and held. And there was something in the depths of his pale eyes that sent shivers down my spine. His obscure words seem to press into my gut with a heavy weight. _What could it be?_

So together with the queen and the rest of the war council, I found myself going down the winding steps that lead to the crypts. And as we passed into the dark tunnel, I could feel the eyes of the stone statues on me. I then remember the dreams I used to have of stumbling down here and hearing granite voices speaking to me from the abyss.

_You are no Stark._

_There is no place for you here._

_Go away._

I held a blazing torch aloft as I led the way to the end of the tunnel where my father's bones were laid to rest beside his lord father and his siblings - Brandon and Lyanna.

Bran was already there, sitting on top of a granite tomb. Beside him stood Sansa and Arya but in the dim light, I could barely make out their faces. It made them seem like strangers, wholly unfamiliar.

_Go away, go away, go away..._

Bran's pale eyes were fixed on the stone figure that bears the likeness of Lyanna Stark. And as I followed his gaze towards the granite plinth beneath the statue, I noticed a tiny, almost inconspicuous crack at the base.

A sense of foreboding seems to fill the chamber as I knelt down and dug my hands on both sides of the crack and pulled. Nothing.

I did it again, this time with more force. And with a loud creak, the plaster finally gave way, revealing a small crevice built underneath.

I reached in and pulled out a rolled parchment, crinkly and yellowed with age. It was sealed with black wax embossed with a red three-headed dragon.

Bran looked at me with an enigmatic smile. "Go on, Jon. Read it."

And there, written in bold dark ink, were the words that changed my entire life. 

_Prince Jaehaerys of House Targaryen born on 283 AC to Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen and Lady Lyanna Stark._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the reveal!
> 
> How do you think Arya will react? And how about Dany? 
> 
> The next chapter will definitely deal with the aftermath of the reveal plus the Long Night is almost here. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading ♥️


	20. Jon - Part Two

I sat in front of the hearth, holding a longsword in front of the blazing fire. The sword was made of Valyrian steel crowned with a huge blood-red ruby at the hilt. And I watched as the flickering light touched upon the great stone making it glow with incandescent flame. 

_Blackfyre._

For years I’ve strived to rid myself of the taint of my bastard blood, forsaking my family and my own dreams, in the hopes of finding honor in the Night’s Watch. And yet all this time, I was the true-born heir to the greatest dynasty the realm has ever known. 

I wonder what my life would have been like if Robert Baratheon was the one killed at the Trident? I would have been raised in King’s Landing and Winterfell would have been a distant place — just my mother’s childhood home. I might have visited from time to time but it would never have been home. 

At my feet, Ghost stirred as if he sensed my disquiet. The direwolf lifted his massive head and looked at me with his red eyes. 

“If I’m not Ned Stark’s bastard,” I murmured, resting my hand against the direwolf’s head, “Then who the hell am I?” 

A low voice suddenly pierced the stillness that has settled into the room. “That makes you the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms.” 

I looked up to see Arya standing in the doorway. Slowly, she walked towards me, her slender form wrapped in a velvet gown. And as she sat on my lap, I slid my arms around her, cradling her head against mine. 

For a long moment, we just sat there in the darkness, wrapped in each other’s arms. 

“Shall I call you dear cousin now?” Arya said, her voice amused. 

“Cousin, sister, lover, wife…” I leaned down to brush a gentle kiss on her hair. “It doesn’t matter so long as you’re mine.”

“Wife eh?” came her pert reply, “I didn’t realize we’re betrothed.” 

I bit her neck in response, not hard, but just enough to leave a mark. “You will marry me, Arya. Do you need me to get down on my knees and ask you?”

“Queen Arya… sounds silly, doesn’t it?” Arya gave a wry laugh. “Truthfully, I don’t see myself getting married at all.”

For a moment a wave of uncertainty washed over me at her words, but I shook it off. I learned long ago that with Arya, sometimes you have to take a stand. This is one of those times. And I have a feeling that it won’t be the last.

“I love you, Arya,” I said in a firm tone. “I want you to be my wife, my queen. I want to raise a family with you. I want to live the rest of my life by your side.” I continued, lightly resting my hand against hers. “We’ll have sons named Robb and Bran and Rickon…”

“And a daughter named Sansa?” she said teasingly.

I grimaced. “Somehow, I don’t think Sansa would appreciate that.”

“I don’t think anyone will appreciate us marrying,” she said dryly. “Least of all the queen.” 

“She came to me, you know,” I admitted, my voice muffled against her hair. “She told me that a marriage between us will be best for the realm.” 

“And what did you tell her?”

“I told her the truth,” I said. “I told her that I can’t marry her because I’m in love with you.”

Arya looked up at me, her eyes were soft. “How did she take it?”

I shrugged. “She didn’t seem to mind…”

“Really?” she said, her brows arched. “She’s so beautiful that she must not be used to men saying no to her.”

“Is she? I didn’t notice,” I whispered as I caressed her silky hair, my lips pressed against her ear. “You’re so beautiful that I find myself unable to look at another woman when you’re around.”

“I’m not beautiful…”

I paused. “You're not?”

“I’m not as beautiful as the queen. Or even Sansa.” 

I looked at Arya, in surprise, but she avoided my gaze. Instead she was staring blankly at the flames, her cheeks flushed. And I realized that she was not teasing. And for a moment I cursed Catelyn Stark. For putting all those silly thoughts in Arya’s head. For always making Arya feel like she’s not pretty enough. Like she’s not good enough. 

“It doesn’t matter really,” she continued as she closed her eyes and snuggled closer to me, her slender arms curving around my neck. “It never mattered to me.”

Arya let out a yelp as I suddenly stood up and carried her to the other side of the room. I then set her on her feet in front of a silver-framed mirror. 

“Listen to me, love,” I said, pressing a kiss on the side of her neck as I slowly pushed her gown from her shoulders. “You’re so beautiful, so _fucking_ beautiful…”

Arya didn’t say a word. She only looked at me in the mirror as I slowly undressed her, her dark eyes heavy lidded and her soft pink lips parted. 

I quickly lifted her off her feet and set her down gently on top of a heavily-carved table. And with a hard tug, I took off my breeches, feeling the cold against my legs. 

“Love, I want you to get your knees…” I murmured, my voice hoarse. “Yes, just like that…” And leaning forward I began to lap my tongue up and down her moist opening, letting my tongue brushed against her tiny nub. 

“Oh!” Arya gasped as I suddenly replaced my tongue with my cock, shoving it deeper and deeper inside her. I placed a hand against her stomach, pulling her against me with every thrust, so that I came in deeper inside her, harder.

Watching our reflections in the mirror I was further aroused by the sight of Arya on her knees as she gripped the edge of the table to keep from being pushed over the side, her knuckles bone-white. As I continued to thrust inside her, filling the dark room with the sound of our bodies slamming against each other. 

“Look at yourself,” I said softly, reaching out to gently turn her head to face the mirror. “Look how beautiful you are…”

Suddenly, Arya cried aloud, her body gushing around my cock. But I barely noticed her release as I continued to drove my hips forward, riding her pleasure until I could no longer hold off my own.

We stayed like that for a moment before I lifted her in my arms and gently set her down the bed, pulling the fur blanket around us.

“Did it feel any different?” 

“Do you mean because we are no longer brother and sister?” Arya said with a small laugh. “I don’t know… I don’t think so. Why, did you feel any different?”

“No, not at all,” I said ruefully. “Maybe because it never really felt wrong. That first night we were together, I should have felt guilty, but all I felt was a sense of contentment.”

Arya laid her head on my chest, turning her head so that her cheek was against me. “Do you know when I found out that Bran is coming home, I thought we could… I don’t know… run away, just leave everything behind. It’s beautiful in Braavos, you know… there’s the Sealord’s Palace with its crystal domes and marble columns … then there’s the canals where vendors sell everything from exotic spices to pearls. I used to sell clams around Ragman’s Harbor and I met all kinds of people, the most beautiful courtesans and wealthy merchants and playwrights and even sailors just return from faraway lands even as far as Asshai. In Braavos, there are no lords and ladies, no peasants, no bastards, no slaves. There, they do not measure a man by his blood but by his own worth.”

“Arya, you know, I can’t leave,” I said in a quiet tone, hoping that she would understand. “When I became king, I lost the right to think only of myself. I have a duty to my people, I cannot leave them.”

“I know, Jon,” Arya said with an even sigh. “You’ve always been honourable. It is one of the things I loved most about you.” 

“But we’ll go there someday, for a visit,” I said, pressing her even closer against me. “I would love to see where Cat and Blind Beth and Mercy used to live.”

“Do you know they call Braavos the _secret city_?” Arya said as she placed both her hands on my chest, her face hovering closely over mine. “For over a hundred years, Braavos hid itself from the eyes of the world. And when it finally revealed itself, it became the wealthiest and most powerful of all the free cities.” Lying her head on my shoulder, she continued, “In a way it reminds me of you. After being hidden your entire life, you’re now the most powerful man in the entire realm.”

“I don’t know Arya…” I swallowed hard. “It just feels like my entire life was a lie.”

“Father did what he thought was right,” Arya said, her voice gentle. “He was only trying to protect you.”

“I know.”

“And not all of it is a lie,” she continued. “Father loved you like his own. We all did.” 

“Well, not _all_ ,” I said dryly, remembering Lady Catelyn’s hostile eyes and sharp tongue.

“Maybe not all,” Arya conceded. “But Father loved you. And so did Robb. Then there’s me, of course.”

“So you really don’t mind then?” I finally said. “About me being a Targaryen…” 

“Well, it could’ve been worse, you know,” Arya said, looking at me with mischievous eyes. “You could have turned out to be a Lannister…” She visibly shuddered at the thought before her eyes widened in horror. “Or gods forbid, a Frey!” 

I burst out laughing, unable to contain my hilarity at the horrific scenario that she just painted. 

“Can you just imagine if you’re actually a Frey?” she said indignantly, “You would have been named Waldo.”

I buried my face in the fragrant tangle of her hair, my shoulders shaking with laughter. 

“It’s not funny!” Arya said, but her lips were smiling. “I don’t think I could bear to be married to a man named Waldo.”

The sound of our laughter filled the darkened room. 

Suddenly I imagined a future where I could hear Arya’s laughter every day. And nothing could have pleased me more.

I reached out toward the bed stand until I felt the warmth of Valyrian steel in my hands.

"That's a fine blade you've got there," Arya said coyly. "Where did you get it?"

"The Three-Eyed Raven gave it to Bran," I said, gently laying the sword in her hand. "It is said that Visenya Targaryen wielded it during the Conquest."

Arya went still, her eyes glowing like molten silver in the dim light.

" _Dark Sister._ "

I looked at Arya, admiring the way her dark hair glinted in contrast to her pale skin.

"Bran said that Rhaegar Targaryen gave this sword to my mother when he married her at Harrenhal," I said solemnly. "And now it's yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to write a Jon POV, sort of a continuation of the previous chapter. 
> 
> I just wanted Jon and Arya to have a little moment before everything changes... 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading ♥️


	21. Tyrion

It has been a fortnight since the young Brandon Stark arrived in Winterfell bearing the news of his half-brother’s true parentage. But the entire castle is still abuzz with the revelation that Ned Stark’s bastard is in fact, Rhaegar Targaryen’s only living son.

“Who would’ve thought that Ned Stark had it in him?” said Lord Royce, his broad weathered face crinkled in bemusement. “Hiding a Targaryen underneath the nose of his old friend, the King.”

“Oh who could blame him?” Lord Celtigar interjected. “Everyone knows how much old King Robert hated the Targaryens.”

Lord Royce agreed. “He would have had the boy killed, no doubt about it.”

“Lucky Ned, for the boy had taken after his mother,” Lord Umber added gleefully. “Just think how hard it would have been for him if the boy was born with silver hair!”

The rest of the lords all laughed uproariously. 

I grimaced and glanced over at Daenerys. She was holding herself very still, her eyes focused on the great stone hearth as if she could somehow find comfort from the blazing fire. _Who could blame her?_ Daenerys Targaryen has spent her entire life in pursuit of the Iron Throne. And now it seemed she’s not the rightful heir after all. 

The letter bearing the Targaryen seal, hidden safely beneath Lyanna Stark’s tomb, was validated by a letter from Lord Howland Reed. The Lord of Greywater Watch was with Ned Stark when he rode south to rescue his beloved sister during Robert’s Rebellion. But by the time they found her hidden on top of a tower in the red waste of Dorne, she was already dying from the ills of childbirth. And with her dying breath, she had asked her brother to protect her babe from the wrath of Robert Baratheon who had torn the entire realm apart to get her back; a promise that Ned Stark had fulfilled until his own death. 

It was the issue of his legitimacy that is proving to be a tricky affair. The young Bran avows that Rhaegar Targaryen married Lyanna Stark in front of the Old Gods with his own Kingsguards standing as witnesses. But they’re all dead now and Jon Snow’s claim to the Iron Throne rests upon the words of a young boy claiming to see the past. 

A _greenseer_ they call him. Someone who could perceive the past and future. A gift that had been passed down from their ancestors — the First Men. 

A few years ago I would have laughed at the notion of it all. Prophecies are the delight of an idle mind or so I thought. But that was before I heard the stories of how Jon Snow bled to death at Castle Black only to rise again from the ashes of his funeral pyre. Before I saw Arya Stark charging into battle with a pack of wolves behind her, following her commands like foot soldiers. Hell, I’ve even pledged my life to a woman who calls three flame-breathing dragons her _children_. 

_It’s a time for beasts_ , my brother Jaime once told me. _A time for lions and wolves and dogs, ravens and crows_. 

Not that the lords need much convincing. In fact, they seem to welcome the news with audible relief. Since ascending the Iron Throne, Daenerys has pursued a very aggressive reform policy, which has made her unpopular with the lords of Westeros. It’s true the lords want peace, but not at the cost of their way of life.

It has been said that Rhaegar Targaryen is the greatest king that the realm never had. And it is in his son that the lords see the promise of the better future that was cruelly snatched from them when the Crown Prince fell at the Trident.

The set of carved weirwood doors opened to usher in the King, followed closely by his trusted advisors Ser Davos Seaworth and Grand Maester Samwell. The King was young, barely one-and-twenty, but his face had been hardened by war. He had a long, lean face and dark solemn eyes. His curly dark hair carelessly tied back. He eschewed the crown and the usual velvet robes of a monarch, preferring plain dark garments beneath his silver armour. Unlike his predecessors, Jon Snow seems utterly indifferent to the trappings of power, needing no golden crowns or gaudy capes to proclaim his kingship.

Beside him stood his sister, or rather his cousin, Lady Arya. Instead of her usual somber colours, she was wearing a court dress made of rich burgundy velvet. Her dark hair covered with a veil of the finest gold lace that made it look almost like a shimmering halo. And on her slender waist was a longsword embedded with a large tear-shaped ruby that seemed to glow in the candlelight. 

Visenya Targaryen's Valyrian steel sword. _Dark Sister_.

I could feel Daenerys stiffen beside me at the sight of the newly arrived couple, her breathing becoming uneven, almost harsh. 

And a similar sense of trepidation filled me as Ser Davos preceded the King and stepped onto the raised dais to address the entire room. 

“My lords and ladies, I would bid you to extend your warmest wishes to His Grace and his betrothed, the Lady Arya of House Stark.” 

The announcement caused an immediate reaction amongst the lords and ladies gathered in the Great Hall. Suddenly, the large room was split by the thunder of applause as both the northern and southern lords and ladies started cheering, their voices rising as one until the stone walls seem to reverberate with it.

“All hail the King! All hail the King! All hail the King!” 

__________

“So it seems congratulations are in order,” I said, taking the empty seat beside Jon. “Although I’ve never known anyone as bloody pleased as you about being shackled to one woman for a lifetime.”

He looked at me with a boyish grin. And I was reminded of the Jon Snow that I befriended on our way to the Wall. The boy that was filled with youthful idealism and a strong desire to prove himself to the world who had looked down upon him his entire life. Although I’m certain he had never, even in his wildest dreams, imagined himself as the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

Life is funny that way, it seems. 

“Do you know the first thing I felt when Bran told me that I’m not Ned Stark’s son?” 

I quirked a brow at him. “I imagined it was quite a shock.” 

“It was relief,” Jon said quietly. “Relief because it means I can finally marry Arya. That there are no more boundaries between us. And we can love each other freely.” A low laugh vibrated in his throat. “A thought not worthy of a king, don’t you think?”

“I’ll be the last person to judge,” I shrugged. “I’m sure you’re not the first man to be led around the nose by a woman. And surely, you will not be the last.”

“If Arya does lead me around,” Jon snorted. “I assure you, my friend, it’s by an entirely different body part.”

I chuckled at that. “She’s peculiar… your sister.”

“My cousin,” he corrected swiftly. “And yes, she’s peculiar. She’s outspoken and headstrong and she gets into trouble all the time. She’s happier at the wilderness with her wolves rather than being warm inside the castle. You would likely find her hobnobbing with peasants rather than other highborn ladies. I reckon, she probably had killed even more men than I have.” 

He glanced around and his stern features softened at the sight of his betrothed, who was standing just a few feet away, talking to Lord Garlan Tyrell about the cost of grain being imposed by the Reach.

Jon continued. “And she knows me inside and out. With her I’m not a Snow, not a Stark, not a Targaryen. I’m just… Jon.”

“You’re a lucky bastard, Jon Snow,” I said, lifting my wine glass in a silent toast.

“I know.” Jon paused for a moment, his expression wry. “It was all meant for Robb. He was the heir. And everyone worshipped the ground he walked on. He would have been a good king.”

“Did you envy him?”

“I did,” Jon drew a deep, ragged breath. “His name, Winterfell, everything. I wanted it all. And now I have them and did not have him.” 

“You were meant for greater things,” I said matter-of-factly. “When this is all over, you will sit on the Iron Throne.”

“Do you think I’m making a mistake then,” he asked, “by marrying for love?”

I didn’t answer him at once, considering the question. “I suppose as the queen’s Hand, I should tell you that marrying Daenerys Targaryen would be the wiser move. She will legitimise your claim to the Targaryen name. And, of course, let’s not forget her dragons.” 

“I’m asking you as a friend,” Jon said, gesturing at a servant to refill both our wine goblets. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”

“No,” I said truthfully. “I know she’s loathe to admit it, but there is no better blood in the entire realm than Arya Stark. The entire north would go to war for her. And she is connected by blood to the Tullys and Arryns.” I continued with a sudden grin. “Furthermore, much as you might not like it, Lord Tyrell and Lord Baratheon would certainly lay their swords upon her feet if she asks them to.”

We both watched in silence as Arya curtsied prettily at Lord Mallister as he led her to the dance floor, her golden veil casting a burnished glow about her. And for a moment, the face beneath the veil was not that of Arya Stark, but my own wife. Not Lady Sansa. But my sweet, innocent Tysha. 

“Listen to me, my friend,” I said quietly, taking a sip of wine and letting it wash away the bitter taste in my mouth. “Life is a fickle, fickle thing. So the moment it smiles upon you and gives you something precious. You grab it, you hold on to it, and you never let go.”

__________

“He gave her _Dark Sister_!” 

“Well, you don't really wield swords, my queen,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “And if you think about it, it's called _Dark Sister_. It suits her. Not that she's his sister, I mean, not anymore.”

Daenerys looked at me accusingly. “None of this would have happened if you’ve managed to convince him to marry me.”

“Somehow, I don’t think I could have changed the past, my queen,” I said with an exasperated grimace. “I was naught but a young boy when your brother decided to take a second wife.”

“This is not the time for humor, my lord,” she countered. “He has usurped my throne and worse, he has crowned another woman as queen.” 

“Let’s not be too hasty,” I said as calmly as I could. “The lords and ladies have yet to proclaim him as the King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Come now, Lord Tyrion,” Daenerys snapped. “We both know that between us, they will choose him.”

“And whose fault is that, my queen?” I said, my own temper flaring. “I have strongly advised you not to implement those policies so soon after ascending the throne.” 

“I’m the queen,” she said sharply. “This is my kingdom. Mine to do as I please.” 

“When you go around changing people’s way of lives without their leave,” I said grimly, “it won’t be long before they start calling you a tyrant instead.”

“What would you have me do now?” 

“Do you know how the Starks survived all these years?” 

“By blood magic?” 

“Because they adapted,” I said firmly. “Their entire world have come crashing around their ears when their father died. But they adapted to the changing world. Sansa married a Lannister. Bran hid in the wilderness. And god knows what Arya did to survive all those years. They bent their knees so as not to be broken.”

She turned to me slowly, her purple eyes gleaming in the yellow torch light. “Are you saying that I should bend the knee to Jon Snow?”

“I would not presume to tell you what to do, my queen,” I said, feeling a quick stab of anxiety at the impotent rage in her eyes. “I know it must be hard. But sometimes we have no choice but to accept the truth.”

Daenerys took a deep, calming breath and sat down sedately in a high-backed chair. “I thought my duty is to restore House Targaryen. But that was before I’ve seen the rot, the moral corruption that taints this entire kingdom. It is my duty to cleanse it. It is my duty to the people, my people.”

“Heed me well, my lord,” Daenerys continued, her beautiful face twisted in contempt. “I am the blood of the dragon and I would bow to no one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're betrothed at last ♥️
> 
> But it looks like someone is none too pleased about it ;)
> 
> Happy Easter everyone!


	22. Jeyne

“My name is Jeyne.”

The brothel madam pursed her rouged lips and studied the young girl in front of her. _A pretty little thing_. With a small oval face and large doe eyes. Her dark brown hair was loose and hangs nearly to her waist. There was a tiny scar at the tip of her upturned nose but it did little to detract from her lovely features.

“How old are you?” The madam asked, looking at the girl carefully. 

“I just turned seventeen, ma’am.”

“Have you ever lain with a man before?”

The girl stammered and lowered her eyes. “I was married once, ma’am… but my husband… he was cruel and he made me do things… unspeakable things… and so I ran away…”

“Pity that,” the madam shook her head, “I’m sure one of the lords would have paid a pretty penny for your maidenhead.” She then continued, her voice almost gentle. “Are you sure about this, child? It’s not an easy life and there is no going back…”

“I haven’t got any place to go,” the girl said meekly. “My father’s dead and I have no family left.”

“Very well,” the madam nodded. “Get your things and be here by tomorrow night. One of the girls, Sally, recently eloped with an apprentice boy, you can have her room.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” the girl said, her head bowed. “I will be back tomorrow night.”

__________

The small brothel located at the edge of Wintertown was crowded with lords and knights and sellswords seeking warmth from the chilly night air.

The common room was filled with raucous male laughter while shabbily dressed women walked to and fro, pouring wine and fetching bowls of warm soup. 

“What are you doing standing there, girl?” Mimi, one of the girls, sidled up to me as I peered inside the common room from the scullery. “You have to go out there and tickle some man’s fancy.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I mumbled.

“Just go out there and chat with one or two of them lords. And you’ll see…”

“See what?”

Mimi sighed. “You’ve got a lot to learn, girl. Do you even know a thing about pleasing a man?”

I shook my head, feeling wholly inadequate. 

“Alright, then. I’d best tell you some things,” she said, looking at me with pity. “Ma’am will not like it when you displeased the client. _He who pays the coin comes first,_ or so she says.”

“Listen, some men would fuck your mouth before they get to your pussy,” Mimi then lowered her voice into a near whisper. “There are even men who would take you up your arse. It would hurt like hell at first, but don’t worry, you’ll get used to it soon enough.”

She gave me a slight push towards the common room. “Go on then, there’s no use skulking about here. Go pick on the young’uns first, they tend to finish quicker…” Mimi puckered her lips towards a group of soldiers with dark hair and swarthy complexion. “And avoid the Dothrakis if you can, I heard they can be quite _forceful_ in bed.”

I clutched a pitcher of Dornish wine in both hands and looked around the large room. Then I walked slowly towards the farthest corner where two men sat, talking quietly to each other across a small round table. 

“Things are not going well for you, I’d say,” the younger man was saying in a clipped tone. “I’m not sure if it’s still in my best interest to help you.”

The older man leaned closer. “Oh, it’s true, the recent news certainly came as a surprise. Even to me.” Then he shook his head, his green eyes wary. “But it’s simply a setback, there’s no reason to set aside our plans.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” the younger man murmured, pushing a lock of brown hair from his brow. “He’s not the kind of man to be trifled with.”

“He won’t be around for much longer,” came the terse reply. “Soon he would leave and we can set our plans into motion.”

“And what about the younger girl?”

“Just leave her to me,” the older man said quietly. “I’ll get her out of the way soon enough.”

“Alright. But if anything else goes wrong I’m out…” 

I moved closer to them and curtsied. “Good evening, m'lords.”

The younger man looked up at me, his eyes narrowed. “What are you doing there, girl?”

I looked at him surreptitiously. He was a handsome man with his lean, angular face and straight nose. But there was a cruel edge to his mouth. And his dark eyes glinted with barely-concealed malice.

“Here, m’lords,” I said, smiling shyly. “I just brought some Dornish wine to warm your bellies.”

The older man barely glanced at me as he leaned across the table. “As I was saying, you needn’t worry…”

I reached for a half-empty goblet but only managed to knock it over, spilling wine on the older man’s dark woolen breeches. 

Swiftly, I dropped to my knees and moved my hands across his lap, frantically trying to fix the mess I’ve made. 

“I beg your pardon, m’lord,” I said, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I’m not usually so clumsy.”

His lips tightened with annoyance. “You’re just making it worse, my dear.”

“Please.” I beseeched him with my eyes. “Oh, please, m’lord. I’ll do anything. Just please don’t tell ma’am, please. I swear, I’ll do anything, m’lord.”

“Why don’t you let the wench show you just how sorry she is, my lord?” the other man said, chuckling. “We can continue our talk on the morrow.”

“Would you really do anything to beg my forgiveness, sweetling?” 

I bit my lip, hard. “W-what should I do, m’lord? If you would just tell me what to do, I would try. I would try really hard. Just tell me what to do. I just don’t know anything, not really.”

He laid his hand over mine and guided it towards his groin. Moving my hands up and down. And then back again. Like a puppet being held on strings by his master. 

His eyes darkened and his mouth curled in a wicked grin. “Hush, my dear. There’s no need for you to worry. I’ll teach you all you need to know.”

I swallowed hard. “I have a small room upstairs, my lord, if you please.”

“Lead the way then, sweetling.” 

He allowed me to take him by the hand and lead him up the rickety stairs and into my small room at the end of the dimly lit hallway.

As soon as the door closed, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. 

I just stood rigidly in his arms, my eyes wide open.

He gave a short laugh. “Just relax, sweetling. Close your eyes and kiss me back.”

This time when he leaned forward, I closed my eyes and tried to mirror his lips as it moved against mine. I parted my lips and felt his tongue caressing the inside of my mouth. 

For a moment, I felt bile rose in my throat and I fought the urge to push him away. 

Instead I moved my hand at his nape and continued to kiss him back as his hands moved to untie the laces of my faded linen dress.

Suddenly, he flinched, his head jerking back. 

“What is it, m’lord?” I said nervously. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was nothing, probably an insect bite…” 

I reached out and caught him just before his head hit the floor.

__________

I’ve been doing it for a long time now and yet it still surprises me how easily I could lure men into my trap by playing the young innocent maiden.

And for all his clever words and schemes, Lord Baelish was no different from other men.  


I splashed a glass of ice-cold water into his face. Smiling a little as his head jerked upright, his beady eyes looking dazedly around the room. 

He tried to stand up but he was jerked short by the silk cloth that tied his arms on either side of the narrow bed. 

“W-what? What’s happening?”

Slowly, I pulled the mask from my face, feeling the fear and uncertainty seep out of my skin until finally I’m no longer Jeyne. 

“L-lady Arya?” Lord Baelish sputtered.

“Lady Olenna didn’t tell you then?” I said mockingly. “And here I thought the two of you are such good friends.” 

His eyes widened in realization. “The Tyrells… it was the reason why they suddenly acquiesced to your brother’s decision.”

“Smart.” I said softly. “But it seems you have other people working with you aside from the Tyrells, like Ser Lyn. It doesn’t matter. I’ll learn their names soon enough and I’ll come after them just the same.” 

“W-what do you want from me?” 

“Nothing,” I said, tipping his pointy chin upwards. “I already know everything, Lord Baelish. Your scheme to pass off Jeyne Poole as me… your efforts to marry Sansa to Harrold Hardyng… your plot to overthrow Jon in favor of Sansa… your plans to kill the Imp and marry Sansa yourself…” I paused for a moment. “Your betrayal of my father back in King’s Landing…”

Lord Baelish fixed his eyes on mine. “I have no idea what you are talking about Lady Arya. If you would release me then we could talk and I…”

I chuckled at that. “You’re a good liar, my lord. I’ll give you that. But unfortunately for you, I’ve spent the last five years dealing with scums like you.” 

“You’re nothing but a scheming liar," I said, taking a sip of wine. "And it would not only be foolish to trust you, but also quite dangerous.” 

Lord Baelish looked at me for a moment and I could see the fear slowly overcome him, his naked body suddenly trembling uncontrollably. 

He opened his mouth to scream but before he could even make a sound, I quickly stuffed a rag into his mouth to muffle his voice. 

“I’ll ask you once again, Lord Baelish,” I whispered. “Did you betray my father?” 

He drew in a ragged breath before he shook his head frantically. _No_. 

I sighed. “You lie. But it doesn’t matter. Your name has been offered to the Many-Faced God. And one way or another, the Many-Faced God must have his due.”

“You’ve spent your entire life in the shadows. Just waiting for your turn,” I said thoughtfully. “And yet you’ll die tonight. In this dark, dingy room. You will leave no mark in this world. You will forever remain in the shadows.”

Lord Baelish struggled futilely against the ropes that bind him, his feet kicking the threadbare blanket off of the bed.

I crouched down beside the bed, my face so close against his that I could smell the mint on his breath. 

“Do you want to die, Lord Baelish?” I asked, my voice soft. “No? Well, few men do. But in the end, all men must die.” 

Slowly, with great calm, I bent and held a feather pillow against his face.

_“Valar Morghulis.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pretty dark chapter (inspired by the Mercy chapter) XD 
> 
> But then much as I love Arya, she _is_ a pretty dark character. 
> 
> After everything that Littlefinger has done to harm her family, can you blame her? 
> 
> And I thought Arya using Jeyne Poole's face to exact revenge against Littlefinger is only fitting after the horrific things he did to poor Jeyne. It gave his death a sense of poetic justice. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts ;)
> 
> * I'm so excited about the latest S7 still photos... Arya Stark is _definitely_ back!


	23. Arya

_“Earth to earth… ashes to ashes… dust to dust.”_

I watched silently as the pine coffin was lowered into the ground. The snow was falling heavily that morning and it didn’t take long before the freshly dug pit was filled with a thick layer of dirt and ice. 

Around the grave stood the Lords of the Vale, their heads bowed in prayer for their recently deceased Lord Protector. While the Knights of the Vale stood in formation a short distance away, their silver helms gleaming against the grey mist.

“I want my uncle Petyr!” the young Lord Arryn wailed, his pale face wet with tears. “Where’s my uncle Petyr?”

“Hush now, Sweetrobin,” Sansa wrapped her arms around the slender boy, her voice as sweet as a lullaby. “All will be well, I promise.”

As the septon continued to recite his prayers to the Seven, I stood at the edge of the grave, my eyes downcast. I didn’t feel sad or happy. I didn’t feel any pride or regret. I simply felt the bitter cold. 

For years, I had dreams of my father. His head sewn backwards on top of his scarred body. His bones protruding from his rotting flesh. His eyes were dark, empty hollows and his mouth was open in a grotesque scream. 

_Did the Lannisters even gave him a proper burial?_ I could not help but wonder. Probably not. His body was probably thrown into the sewers as befits a traitor to the crown. 

An honourable man’s bones lies on a filthy ditch. While a traitor’s body rests on hallowed grounds. _Where is the fairness in that?_

If I had my way, I would have fed Lord Baelish to my wolves. They would have made sure that nothing remains of him to be buried. But with the Vale being Jon’s wealthiest sworn house, I could not afford to take the chance of them revolting against him. 

I looked up to see Jon staring at me, his dark eyes inscrutable. Snowflakes were melting onto his hair and I had the sudden urge to reach out and brush them away. But I didn’t. Instead I just looked him in the eye from across Lord Baelish’s grave.

_He knows. Of course, he knows._

__________

The godswood had always smelled of mildew, it’s earthy scent as familiar as the heart tree that stood at its center. But now the trees were enveloped by a sweet heady aroma. The winter roses were in bloom, their petals tinted blue against their silver stems.

I knelt beneath the heart tree and tugged Lord Baelish’s knife from where it was bound against my thigh. The dagger was made of fine Valyrian steel with a dragonbone hilt to match. And it fitted right into my hand.

As I held up the knife, admiring the way the light glinted off it’s pointed edge, I heard footsteps approaching behind me. I looked around to see Jon walking towards me, his face an impenetrable mask. 

“That’s a fine blade, you’ve got there,” Jon remarked, his voice deceptively calm. “Where did you get it?”

I shrugged. “In Braavos.” 

Jon’s face hardened. “A gift from the venerable Faceless Men, I assume?” 

“They do have a fine collection of blades, I must say.”

Silence seemed to stretch between us, filling the air with heavy tension. 

“Where were you the other night?” he said suddenly. 

“I was here at the godswood, praying…” I said baldly. “Do you not remember? It was father’s name day and I just thought…”

With slow, deliberate movements, Jon placed his hands against my shoulders and pulled me against him. “Do not lie to me, Arya.”

I held his stare for a long moment before I finally said in a quiet tone. “I killed him.” 

Jon was so close that I could smell the snow in his hair and on his skin. I noted the weary lines around his eyes and the deep creases between his brows. He looked far older than his years, his face bearing the weight of the crown he carried on his head.

“Why?”

“He deserved to die,” I answered, my voice pitiless. 

Jon snapped at me. “You murdered a man in cold blood!”

“He betrayed father,” I said in response. “Why should he get to live when father is dead?”

“Because it’s not up to you to decide who gets to live and who gets to die!”

“Who gets to decide then? You?” I sneered right back. “You would probably offer him a lordship like you did Jaime Lannister!”

Jon looked at me, his face stricken. “Do you think I forget about them? They were my family too.”

“But they’re gone, and we’re not,” His voice was gentle. “What good will it do to let the past consume us?”

He continued. “I’ve been in enough battles to know what is worth fighting for and what is not. A future with you. Beside you. That’s the only thing that matters to me.”

I felt my anger dissipating into the mist. For I remember the Jon Snow who would quietly leave the room whenever my mother was around; who would concede defeat against Robb so as not to embarrass him in front of his future bannermen; who would sit at the farthest corner of the Great Hall whenever there were guests so as not to bring shame to our father.

“Lucky you,” I smiled at him, “to have fallen in love with someone as screwed up as me.”

“Yeah?” Jon bit down on a grin. “Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit screwed up too. So that makes the two of us.” 

“No, you’re not,” I reached out to stroke his cheek, “you always were the best of us. If father could see you now, he would be so proud of you, Jon.”

“You survived, Arya,” he said, “with just your own wits. You survived the war when most men twice your age have perished. I daresay, father would have been more proud of you.”

“I’ve killed so many, Jon,” I curled my hands into tight fists. “Septa Mordane used to say that I have the hands of a blacksmith. But she was wrong. I have the hands of a killer.”

“After I escaped King’s Landing I was afraid that mother would not want me after I’ve killed that stableboy at the Red Keep. And then that guard at Harrenhal. But I told myself that you will accept me despite everything that I’ve done.” I paused and looked him directly in the eye. “Am I mistaken then, Jon? Do you hate me now?” 

He shook his head. “I love you, Arya. Even if you’ve killed a thousand men, my love would not change.”

“Then why do I feel like you’re trying to tame me?” 

Jon laughed. “Tame is the last word I’d use to describe you, love.” 

He reached out behind me and touched the winter roses blooming against the stone wall. He chose one blossom, snapped the stem and carefully tucked it in my ear. 

The romantic gesture caught me by surprise and I found myself blushing like a silly girl.

“Believe me when I say that I would have you no different,” Jon continued, taking me by the hand. “All I’m asking is that you live your life for yourself. Not for father, not for your mother, not for anyone else.” 

“They’re long gone, Arya. It’s time to let them rest.” 

For the past five years, every decision I’ve made was influenced by my father and my mother and Robb’s deaths. For so long, my prayer has defined me. I’ve never had any reason to survive. And I only lived each day in the hopes that someday I would be able to avenge my family. 

Although I couldn’t bring myself to regret all that I’ve done, there are times when I would remember the little girl who dreamed of building castles and becoming a king’s councillor. There was another life that I might have had. If only my father was not murdered by the Lannister, if only my mother and Robb weren’t betrayed by the Boltons and the Freys.

_If only._

Jon picked up my left hand, my sword hand, and kissed every single fingertip. His dark eyes intent on mine as he touched his lips to each fingertip, one after the other.

Then he leaned down and kissed me slowly, almost teasingly. His mouth warm and sweet and snug. His taste was familiar, a potent blend of sweet Arbor wine and spiced cinnamon. And I felt the warmth of arousal curling in my belly. 

“Promise me, Arya,” Jon murmured in between kisses. “Promise me…”

I’ve waited a long time for my revenge. Now the person I loved most in the world is asking me to give it all up. 

And in the end, the decision was easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I get to update! Been quite busy the past couple of weeks so XD
> 
> Don't get me wrong, I'm all for Arya completing her list. But I think there will come a point when she would realize the futility of seeking vengeance. And I'm hoping that Jon would be instrumental in that regards (I mean, who else would she listen to, really). 
> 
> This is just a quick update, the next chapter would be quite longer and more action-packed (I hope!) What do you think the next chapter will be about?
> 
> And yay, the official trailer had finally been released! Though I'm still holding out for George to release _The Winds of Winter_ soon, I'm still hyped for the coming season... Arya looks so badass ❤️


	24. The Long Night

_Daenerys_

“Do you really think you can best me in a fight, girl?”

I stood at the arched bridge that connected the Great Keep to the armory and looked down at the courtyard below where a large group of knights stood in a circle as the combatants slowly sized each other up.

“I don’t just think it, Clegane,” Arya said boldly, pulling her sword from its sheath and pointing it at her opponent. “I know it.”

“Valyrian steel eh?” her opponent said mockingly, his hand firmly gripping a broadsword. “I’ve always wanted my own Valyrian steel.”

“You talk too much,” Arya retorted. “Like a fishwife.”

To my surprise, the large man with the hideously scarred face threw back his head and roared with laughter. “A fishwife? Why don’t I show you how a fishwife fights then…”

In a sudden move, he lunged towards his opponent who stood a foot shorter than him and probably weighed ten stones lighter. But Arya quickly leaped back, putting herself out of reach before thrusting her own sword at Clegane. 

Clegane was stronger and more powerful but Arya’s quickness was astonishing to behold. She slashed and whirled around him like the fluttering wings of a hummingbird. And it was clear that she was beginning to tire out her much heavier opponent.

“Tired, Clegane?” Arya taunted as she suddenly twisted her wrist and struck Clegane. She cut downward, slicing her opponent in the arm, not too deep, but deep enough that the pointy end of her sword glinted red. 

“You bitch!” 

Clegane attacked her, hacking his broadsword against her slimmer blade. But Arya deftly parried every thrust and the sound of steel against steel filled the courtyard punctuated with good-natured heckling from the other knights.

My gaze was transfixed by the sword in Arya’s hand. It was a slender sword with a hilt made of finely wrought gold in the shape of a dragon. And in its crossguard nestled a large oval-shaped ruby that seems to glow against its shining Valyrian steel blade.

_Dark Sister._

A Targaryen heirloom given by her besotted brother. And soon she would sit on the Iron Throne beside him, wearing Visenya Targaryen’s crown on her head. 

_Not on my life,_ I vowed. _I will not let a bastard take what is rightfully mine._

There was a loud howl and I looked down in time to see Arya leaped from a railing and delivered a kick right in the middle of her opponent’s torso. In an instant, Clegane was on the ground, gasping for breath and clutching at his stomach. 

Amidst the cheers and hollering, Arya walked up to Clegane and kicked his broadsword from his hand. Then she planted a foot in his chest and pointed her sword against his chin. 

“Twice, I let you live, Clegane,” Arya said, her voice loud and mocking. “I might not be generous the third time around.”

__________

“Quite a show eh?” 

I turned at once to find Lord Tyrion and Ser Jorah Mormont standing behind me. 

“I could not believe she bested the Hound,” Tyrion said, obviously awed. “I wonder where she learned to fight like that.” 

“The Faceless Men.” 

“Beg your pardon?” 

“The Faceless Men, _khaleesi,_ ” Jorah repeated. “They are the servants of the Many-Faced God and considered to be …”

“… the most feared assassins in the known world,” Tyrion finished. 

“And why do you think that, Ser Jorah?” 

“I’ve met a Faceless Man before in one of my travels,” Jorah said matter-of-factly. “They have a similar style of fighting, the same stance, the same way of wielding a sword. She did spend time in Braavos, didn't she?"

“Seven hells,” Tyrion said, his mouth agape. “So that explains it.”

“You’re talking in riddles, my lord,” I said, a bit irritably. “What exactly does it explain?”

“Lord Banefort, Lord Crakehall, Lord Marbrand, and most recently, Lord Baelish,” Tyrion said in a hushed voice. “They all died in different ways but they have one thing in common…”

“They were last seen with a young woman,” Jorah nodded. “Based on descriptions, the women looked different as well, different facial marks, different hair color. But the height and body type were approximately the same.” 

“So she’s been killing off anyone who crossed words with her dear brother?”

“It seems that way,” Tyrion agreed. “But you have to admit, it is quite efficient.”

“What do we do now, _khaleesi_?”

“Nothing, we do nothing,” I said quietly. “Let Lady Arya keep her secret a while longer and who knows we might be able to make use of this little tidbit in the future."

___________

“What’s it like to wear another person’s face?”

I looked at the young woman beside me, searching for a flicker of surprise or any emotion. But her face remained impassive, as cold and emotionless as a marble statue.

And when she spoke, she sounded calm and in perfect control.

“Aren’t we all just wearing masks?”

She looked around the crowded room until her gaze landed on a long wooden table where several lords were seated, drinking wine and talking loudly.

“Take Lord Mooton, for example. On the surface, he is the most devoted of husbands. But I know for a fact that he’s been having an affair with Lord Piper’s wife. And Ser Heddle’s wife too.”

“Then there’s the very wealthy Lord Dunn. You wouldn’t know by all the fine silks and gems that he wears but I have it on good authority that his recent investments have all failed to turn a profit. He is, in fact, a hair’s breadth from landing in a debtors’ prison.”

“Ser Lyn Corbray, on the other hand, there’s a fine knight. Handsome and well-connected and a brilliant swordsman. Do you know that he prefers young boys?”

I raised my goblet in a silent toast. "Touché."

I turned and stared at this young woman who has Jon Snow so firmly wrapped around her fingers. Indeed, she is quite a beauty. Dark hair and pale skin and slender build. Her silver eyes were heavy-lidded and her mouth was lush and pouting. Despite her delicate build, she exuded a raw sensuality. And it was easy enough to see why men are enthralled by her and none more so than her beloved brother.

I took a sip of golden wine. “So what mask are you wearing tonight?” 

“The Noble Lady,” she said after a moment. “Soft-spoken and feminine. Charming the lords with pretty words and exchanging petty gossip with the ladies. So then I can get close enough to know those who are loyal to Jon and those who are not.”

“And those who proved to be not loyal? What happens to them?”

Arya shrugged. “I make sure they do not cause trouble for Jon.” 

“And how about you, Your Grace,” she asked suddenly. “What mask are you wearing tonight?”

“I’m the Queen,” I touched the dragon brooch pinned on my chest. “It is not a mask that I wear. It is who I am."

“Do you like being a queen?”

“It matters not whether I like it or not. It is my destiny.” I looked directly into her eyes. “I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms, Lady Arya, and make no mistake about it, I will.”

Arya met my gaze, her own eyes unwavering. “I’ve never wanted to be a queen. Truth is, I could not think of a fate worse than being tied down to an ugly chair."

"Then why marry him?"

"Because I love him," was her reply, "and if being a queen is what it takes to be by his side then so be it."

_Arya_

Curled underneath the furs, I looked at Jon as he sat behind a large wooden table, his dark brows furrowed in concentration as he read a letter from the Wall.

“Bad news?”

“It’s from Cotter Pyke,” he said, folding the letter carefully and tucking it beneath the ever growing pile of letters on his table. “A group of wildlings have taken shelter at Eastwatch after their village has been attacked by wights.”

A look passed between us. It seems that letters from the Wall have been arriving with increasing frequency, laden with news of wight attacks. Several days ago, there was a letter from Castle Black about a wight attack near Storrold’s Point. A week before, it was the Bay of Seals. 

“We leave at dawn,” Jon said, “Edd has gathered the rest of the men and we will meet them at Eastwatch.” 

“And who is this Edd? How do we know that we can trust him?”

“He’s a good man,” Jon said with a slight grin. “A bit gloomy, perhaps. But I’d trust him with my own life.” 

I bit my lip, unable to dispel my worry. “I don’t know, Jon. This _hunt_ … I don’t like the sound of it at all.” 

Jon looked at me and murmured, “C’mere…”

I eased out of bed and walked towards him. I sat on his lap and laid my head against his chest, feeling his pulse against mine.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” he said, his tone hushed. “I’m afraid.”

“The White Wolf afraid?” I said teasingly. 

Jon smiled at that. “You better not tell the lords what I just said. It’s not good for the morale.”

“Well, do you remember what father used to say?” I said, running a hand through his unruly hair. “A man can only truly be brave when he is afraid.”

“It’s your fault, really,” Jon continued, “Before I had nothing to fear for I had nothing to live for…”

“And now?”

“And now, I have you,” Jon said simply. 

I leaned over to press a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “You will always have me.” 

“No, not always.” 

His words took me off guard. “Why do you say that?”

“I’ve died once,” Jon sighed and rested his chin on top of my head. “I’ve been to the other side… the afterlife as some calls it.” 

I looked at him, surprised. Jon rarely talks about it. His death and subsequent resurrection. I think in some way, he felt like an abomination. Like he was less human somehow. And I remember Beric Dondarrion saying how pieces of him were chipped away every time he comes back from the dead.

“What did you see on the other side?” I asked hesitantly, a bit afraid to hear his answer. 

“Nothing. There was nothing at all.” 

A heavy pall hung over the room. And I could feel my gut clench at his words. Jon has always been melancholic by nature. But this pessimism is uncharacteristic, even for him. 

“Do you think we can defeat him?” 

“I don’t know, Arya,” Jon answered. “We have 200,000 men, a shipload of Valyrian weapons, an army of wolves, and three dragons.” His arms tightened around me. “But I’ve seen them. I’ve seen how they slaughtered 5,000 people in a matter of minutes. And I’ve seen how they raised those 5,000 people back from the dead. How do you kill the dead?”

Suddenly, Jon stood up and walked towards the large armoire across the room. He returned with an intricately carved wooden chest which he then set in front of me. 

I opened it and saw gold. Piles and piles of gold coins tucked inside the velvet lining. I looked up at Jon, confused. 

“If the Wall falls, I want you to leave,” His voice was tight. “Go back to Braavos. Or better yet, go to Meereen. The farther east, the better.” 

“And you? How about you?” 

He met my eyes squarely. “If the Wall falls, there’s a chance that I might not …”

“The Wall will stand,” I said quickly, hating how my voice quavered. “The Wall will stand as it has for a thousand years.”

“But if it falls…”

“Then what? You want me to run?” I snapped. “You want me to save my own hide and leave you behind?”

Jon sounded weary. “Listen to me, Arya. I’ve survived them at the Fist of the First Men. I’ve survived them at Hardhome. I’ve survived a hundred battles. But this is war. And in war, anything can happen.”

“Do you know how I got away from the Faceless Men?” I asked him. “I knew too much and so they sent a Faceless Man to kill me. They sent my own mentor. I learned everything from him so of course they thought I would be an easy prey for him.” 

I traced a finger along his jaw. “I was aboard a ship and we were in the middle of a raging storm. It was dark inside my cabin and he would have killed me if not for a sudden flash of lightning. I thought I was alone, I didn’t even feel him, then suddenly, there he was. Just right beside me.”

“He was stronger than me. He was faster. He was more experienced.” I laid my cheek against his neck, savoring the feel of him, warm and vital. “But he had nothing to live for. While I had you. It was the thought of you that gave me the strength to kill him.”

I cradled his face between my hands as I crawled back into his lap, straddling him. Leaning forward, I pressed my lips to his. And for a long moment we just kissed, his hands running through my hair, my hands slowly unlacing his trousers. Greedily, I sucked on his tongue. Before pulling back and lowering myself on his cock. 

I could feel Jon’s feverish breath against me. The press of his body, hard and fierce, against mine. It would have been easy to reverse our position, to have him on top of my body. But I didn’t want that. I needed the sensation of overpowering him in every sense. It wasn’t a slow rhythmic motion, but a wild one. I was like a woman possessed. I looked down at Jon. His head was thrown back, mouth open and breathing heavily. 

The war was forgotten. There was only this. There was only Jon inside me, driving his hard cock deeper and deeper into me. My entire body pulsed at the same time that Jon flooded my inside with his seed. I came so hard that it almost hurt.

And afterwards, I held him close, so close that I can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest. A cold breeze wafted from the open window and I shivered, feeling tiny goosebumps rising against my bare skin. 

“Jon, do you remember a few days ago when you made me promise to lay down my sword in the name of vengeance?”

“Now it’s my turn,” I whispered against his ear. “Promise me, Jon. Promise me, you’ll come back to me. No matter what happens. No matter what it takes. Come back to me…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Sapph89 gave me an idea about a scene between Dany and Arya. And that's when I realized that they haven't even spoken in any of the chapters. And so here's the first Long Night chapter, I'm planning to write three or four multi-POV chapters set during the Great War.
> 
> What can I say, winter is coming ;) 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! Who do you think would survive the war against the Others?
> 
> PS - (spoilers ahead) I can't wait for the season premiere! I'm not really looking forward to the whole Jon/Dany encounter but whatever. I wouldn't be surprised if they leave Jon and Arya's reunion until the very last episode of the very last season. Ha!


	25. The Long Night - Beyond the Wall

_Daenerys_

_Fire is power._

It is something that I have proven time and time again. 

I have been exiled. I have been thrown out of the only home I’ve ever known. I have been made to roam the streets like a beggar. I have been bartered and sold to a warlord. I have been raped and beaten and enslaved. I have lived my entire life under the mercy of other people. But all that changed the moment I’ve risen from Drogo’s funeral pyre with three dragons cradled in my arms.

Since then I’ve conquered Astapor and destroyed the slave masters. I’ve conquered Yunkai and freed thousands of slaves. I’ve conquered Meereen and was crowned as its queen. But still it was not enough. 

I could still hear Viserys’s voice in my head. “We will have it all back, sweet sister. Dragonstone and King’s Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all that they have taken from us, we will have it back.”

Growing up, Viserys would tell me stories about Westeros. About its beauty and riches. About the knights clad in steel and wielding swords. About the ladies in beautiful dresses and fluttering veils. It was where I belong. In the beautiful castle overlooking the Narrow Sea, surrounded by the finest silks and the most elaborate tapestries.

But Westeros was nothing like my brother’s stories. Years of war have torn the kingdom apart. Cities and villages were burned to the ground. Families were forced out of their homes. There were beggars everywhere. Men, women, children in ragged clothes. Westeros was a kingdom of blood and dirt and disease and hunger and misery. 

But it is my kingdom. My heart’s greatest desire. Sometimes I would close my eyes and I would imagine Viserys standing beside me. He would smile and call me his sweet sister. And maybe he’d even tell me how proud he was of me.

“You shouldn’t be out here.”

I looked up to see Jon Snow standing beside me. His face was pale against his dark hair and fur cloak. Heavy lines were etched across his forehead and at the corners of his mouth. 

“There’s a storm coming,” he said, quickly taking off his cloak and wrapping it around my shoulders.

Our eyes met and my stomach fluttered. He quickly looked away, his dark eyes scanning the horizon, almost as if he was already envisioning the war to come.

“I have received a raven from Bran,” he continued. “They are at the Haunted Forest.”

“How many of them?”

“Three hundred thousand,” Jon said, his voice grim. “Maybe even more.” 

“Six men against three hundred thousand?” I said, unable to hide my grimace. “It doesn’t sound like a good plan.”

“This is no ordinary war,” Jon said bluntly. “If we take more men then we risk adding even more wights to their army. If we fail, there would be 500,000 wights marching south. We cannot take that risk.”

Jon pressed a hand against his temple. “Besides we’re not going to fight them. We just need to know the Night King’s exact location. It is him that we need to destroy.” 

“If he falls, they fall,” he continued. “It’s our only chance against them.” 

“And you’re sure about this?”

“Bran said it’s the only way,” Jon said. “And I trust him.”

“Of course.”

Jon did not miss the sarcasm that edged my voice.

He cleared his throat. “We haven’t had the chance to talk about what Bran said.”

“It doesn’t matter what he said,” I turned toward him. “As a true-born Targaryen, I have a greater claim to the Iron Throne than you.”

“Before we left Winterfell, there was a letter from the Citadel,” Jon spoke in a measured tone. “They have found proof that Rhaegar Targaryen married my mother in 282 AC, a year before I was born.”

“No, that is impossible!” My heart pounded with dread. “My brother was already married to Elia of Dorne. How could he have married your mother?”

Jon kept his gaze deliberately away from me. “Along with a marriage certificate was a petition for annulment. His marriage to Princess Elia has been declared null and void.” 

“So now what? You would lay claim to my kingdom?” 

“My kingdom is right here, in the North,” Jon said mildly. “But I’ll be damned if I let the children that I would have with Arya carry the same taint of bastardy that I had to endure as a child.”

I was silent. A cold breeze swept past and a flurry of snow flakes drifted down. And I listened to the gentle rustle of the trees that surround us. 

He wants legitimacy. A name to be passed on to his children. How many Blackfyre rebellions did the Targaryen kings have to put down just because Aegon IV made the ill judgment of legitimizing his bastard son?

 _No, I will not spend the rest of my life looking behind my back or hearing people questioning my claim,_ I vowed.

_“Ego sum dracones.”_

He turned toward me, his dark brows lifted in silent query. 

“I have dragons,” I finally said to him. “Lest you forget, I conquered this kingdom with fire and blood.”

“It doesn’t matter if you are my brother’s legitimate heir. Unless you want your beloved North reduced to ashes, you will not contest my claim to the Iron Throne.”

“Unless you want to rule over a kingdom of skeletons,” he countered, “you would do well not to alienate your most important ally.”

I looked at him, surprised by his sharp tone. “What is it that you _really_ want, Jon?”

His dark eyes carried a hint of wry amusement.

“When I figure it out, I'll let you know.”

_Jon_

I led six men beyond the Wall. We rode out through the dark and into the raging blizzard. 

The Wall loomed behind us. It stood against the darkness like a shining beacon. And I said a silent prayer that Arya was right and that the Wall will stand.

The sky was pitch-dark and the frozen landscape seemed to stretch on with nothing in sight. The snow was falling heavily and we could barely see past a few feet in front of us. There was no sound except for the howling wind. 

It was strange. We were on the brink of war and yet there was only silence.

We rode for hours until we finally reached a clearing at the edge of the Haunted Forest. There we made camp and shared bread and cheese by a small fire. 

Sandor Clegane tore a hunk of black bread and chewed rapidly before gulping down from a flagon of spiced wine. 

“Fuck, this cold. This fucking cold.”

Tormund remarked. “You sure have a way with words, Clegane.”

“Shut up.”

In a deep baritone, Thoros started humming. 

_My voice as sweet as Arbor wine…_  
_My eyes cried tears of Lys…_  
_And in that cold, cold night,_  
_winter came for my enemies._

“It’s called _The She-Wolf,_ Your Grace,” Thoros said upon finishing the song. “It’s being sung all over Westeros.”

“ _The She-Wolf?_ ” Clegane growled. “It should have been called _The Wolf Bitch._ ” 

“Shut up, Clegane,” Gendry Baratheon said, his voice sharp. “Don’t call her that.”

Thoros then winked at Gendry as he sang.

 _And I want to kiss you, make you feel alright,_  
_I'm just so tired to share you, my love._  
_I want to cry, I want to love,_  
_but all my tears have been used up._

Gendry turned beet-red. “Shut up, Thoros.”

Beside me, Beric Dondarrion chuckled. “Clegane is just cross with the girl because he can't beat her in a sword fight.”

I looked around the fire at the Brotherhood without Banners. These are the men who took Arya as their hostage during the War of the Five Kings. But oddly enough, she seems rather fond of them. 

It speak volumes of the horrors she went through that she considers her time with a band of outlaws as a _fond_ memory. 

“How long did she travel with the lot of you?”

“Not long, Your Grace,” Lord Beric said. “We were going to ransom her to her mother and brother at Riverrun but then the Red Wedding happened.”

“Well, she did make the Freys pay for it,” Thoros said, shoving a piece of cheese in his mouth, “that she did.”

Clegane let out a sardonic laugh. “And here I thought her list was a fucking joke."

“List?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. 

“The list of all the men she said she would kill someday,” Clegane said, his raspy voice sounding amused. “Every fucking night she would recite it before going to sleep… all their names, one after the other. Would you believe she calls it her prayer?”

I thought of Arya. Arya naked on a copper tub as she tells me about her time in Braavos; Arya atop a horse as she charges toward a group of Lannister soldiers; Arya with her head bowed as Lord Baelish’s coffin was lowered onto the ground; Arya weeping as she knelt by her father’s tomb. 

“Yes,” I said quietly, “she would do that.”

And that night I dreamed of her. She was holding a winter rose and her eyes were weeping.

_“Promise me, Jon. Promise me, you’ll come back to me…”_

In the morning we rode on. The wind has picked up and heavy snow fell down on us in a relentless pattern. I could feel my face beginning to sting against the bitter cold. And no sound reached my ear except for my own heartbeat.

Suddenly, Ghost let out a loud growl.

“Halt!” I immediately said.

And there they were. The rotting bodies of the undead. Men, women, children. And giants. Thousands and thousands of them. They spread far and wide turning the snow-capped landscape into a dark abyss.

_There’s too many of them. By the gods, there’s too many of them._

Clegane’s eyes widened in horror. “Fuck.”

We spurred our horses back to the other side of the gorge. But it was too late. We were much nearer to them than I anticipated. The screams of the undead clawed at my ears as we urged our mounts across the ice-cold river.

“Stay on your horses, men,” I yelled at them, “No matter what happens, stay mounted.”

I looked beside me and saw Gendry Baratheon atop his black garron. 

“Gendry!” I called. “Take the west trail and go back to Eastwatch. Tell the queen to follow the Antler. We will lead them to the Antler Pass.”

“I will make haste, Your Grace,” Gendry said promptly. “And we will meet you at the pass.”

“No!” I shouted above the thundering noise. “I want you to ride further south. To Winterfell. Gather every men, women, and children. And take them across the Narrow Sea. Do you understand me?”

His face was ashen. “Yes, of course, Your Grace.”

“And Gendry… “

He turned to look at me.

“Take care of her, will you?”

Gendry gave a sharp nod before he turned his mount and galloped westward.

For a moment I felt the overwhelming urge to trade places with him. I would give anything to be with Arya once again, to wrap my arms around her and lay my head on her bosom. I tried to picture Arya in my mind but all I could see were the faces of the men riding beside me. 

_What is love when put up with the lives of thousands of men?_

I felt my brain go empty of everything except for the horse beneath me and the wind whipping against my face. On and on I rode through the snow storm trying to outrun the undead at my heels. 

Lightning split the dark sky and the wind howled in rhythm with the sound of the damned. I gripped my reins tighter as the ground shook beneath our horses and the swarm of wights following closely behind. 

I felt a painful stab and looked behind at a half-rotten corpse clawing at my back. I swung Blackfyre and pierced it into the creature’s bloody face. It shrieked loudly before dissolving into dark ashes. 

It was followed by another godawful scream. This time the sound was _human_. It was Thoros. His horse slipped in an icy patch and sent him hurtling to the ground. He raised his Valyrian steel sword and dealt a savage blow against a wight. But he was outnumbered. He screamed and screamed and screamed until finally, nothing.

As we neared the edge of the forest, wights suddenly appeared in front of us, barring our path across the forest and into the Antler River. I felt my body going numb with cold and despair. As if a thousand knives were stabbing me all at once. And the entire world seemed to shrink into a single defined moment. 

Darkness engulfed us and in the eerie silence that followed I murmured a woman’s name.

_Arya..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, winter is finally here. What do you guys think would happen next chapter?
> 
> Also, let's talk about Episode 1 and 2, shall we? 
> 
> Even though I felt that the episodes seem a bit rushed, I think it goes a long way in disproving some of the more pessimistic theories about Arya's fate.
> 
> (1) Sansa will adopt Nymeria. (Seriously, I've read this theory a dozen times! Why?)  
>  _Even though the Arya/Nymeria reunion was short-lived, I think we'll see Nymeria and her pack again in the Great War to come._
> 
> (2) Arya will be so consumed by vengeance and it will lead her to self-destruction.  
>  _Her choosing to go North instead of King's Landing is symbolic of her choosing love/family over vengeance._
> 
> (3) Arya is ugly! And Lyanna is more like Sansa. (Again, why?)  
>  _Hot Pie calling her pretty is proof that she's would blossom into a beauty like her aunt/doppelgänger Lyanna._
> 
> Only two episodes in and it's already clear that Arya would be a gamechanger once she returns to Westeros. Ugh, come on George, give us _The Winds of Winter_ already!
> 
> Song: Another Love by Tom Odell


	26. The Long Night - Winterfell

_Sansa_

The world has gone quiet.

As Jon marched to the Wall together with Daenerys Targaryen and an army of 100,000 men, the rest of the North was left to wait.

Day and night ceased to exist as the entire world seemed to be blanketed in darkness. 

I paused at the edge of the godswood and looked at Bran and Arya who were huddled beneath the heart tree, speaking quietly to each other. 

In the shadowy grey mist, I could almost believe they were the same children I grew up with. Then I looked at the pack of wolves surrounding them and the flock of ravens soaring above their heads and in my heart, I knew that those children were long gone. 

Gone was my little brother who used to climb up these very walls as quick as a monkey. He was mother’s special boy. Her sweet summer child. He used to make our mother laugh. He used to make all of us laugh. 

Gone was Arya with her scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes. She was the apple of our father’s eye. His precious little girl. She used to run around this castle playing swords with peasant children. _Arya Underfoot_ they called her. 

Growing up, Old Nan used to tell us stories filled with mythical creatures. And now Bran and Arya have become _the_ mythical creatures in those stories. People talk about them in hushed, almost reverent tones. And as days melt into weeks and darkness remains, people cling to them as their only hope against the evil lurking in the shadows.

Often I would feel people’s eyes on me as if wondering why I’m so ordinary? Why can’t I be more like my sister? Funny thing is that mother and Septa Mordane used to tell the same thing to Arya.

I approached and both of them turned to look at me, their eyes dark against their pale skin. 

“What is the matter?”

They were silent for a moment but something flickered in Bran’s sunken eyes.

And when Arya finally spoke, her voice was urgent. “We must leave Sansa. Everyone must leave immediately. There are ships waiting at Deepwood Motte bound for the Reach.”

“The Reach?” I exclaimed, “We cannot leave these walls, there’s a storm out there. People will die before we even make it past the Knife.”

Bran looked at me, his face blank. “Then burn their bodies and continue with the journey.” 

“Bran!” I said, aghast. 

But Bran was no longer listening. His eyes were closed and there was a preternatural calm that surrounds him. I know him well enough by now to understand that he was having a vision. 

I turned toward Arya. “You can’t be serious? We won’t survive out there.” 

“Listen to me, Sansa,” Arya leaned against the heart tree, her face pale and tense. “Bran had a vision. And he saw it falling.”

I felt bone-deep fear settle inside me. “What? What did he see falling?”

“The Wall.”

__________

_Gendry_

It was cold. Mother’s Mercy it was cold.

I rode south from Eastwatch at a breakneck pace, trying to reach Winterfell. I rode through knee-deep snow with only the howling wind for company. The world felt very empty. Most nights, I sat by the fire, listening for any movement in the dark. I could hardly sleep, fearing that the undead would suddenly appear in front of me as they have done in the Haunted Forest. 

It was almost midnight when I finally arrived at Winterfell, expecting the castle inhabitants to be asleep. Instead the castle was overrun with people — noble-born and common folk were huddled together in the courtyard. 

“What is going on?” I asked one of the sentries.

He bowed. “The maester said to gather everyone here, milord.”

“Where’s Lady Arya?”

The sentry nodded toward the arched bridge that overlooked the courtyard and as I followed his gaze I saw Arya with her brother and sister beside her. 

As I slowly made my way through the crowd, Lady Sansa began to speak. 

“Last night my brother had a vision in which he saw the Wall falling.” 

“The north is no longer safe,” Sansa said in a deep, calm voice. “We have sent ravens to every town and village and told them to go to Deepwood Motte or White Harbor where ships are waiting to take everyone south. Lord Tyrell has offered to provide every northerner food and shelter at the Reach.” 

At first the crowd was silent, but as the import of the words began to sink in, their voices slowly rose to a deafening crescendo.

“There’s a blizzard!” 

“What will happen to us out there?”

“This is madness! Madness, I tell you!”

Arya stood rigidly, her dark eyes sweeping the crowd. Even from afar I could tell that she lost weight and there were dark circles under her eyes. She seemed so small and delicate. Barely a woman full-grown. And yet she was the strongest person I’ve ever known. 

“You want to know what awaits us out there?” Arya addressed the panicked crowd. “Will it be cold? Yes. Will there be hunger? Yes. Are we going to die? Possibly. But if we stay here, only certain death awaits us.”

Silence descended at her harsh words. 

Then a woman wailed loudly. “May the old gods and the new gods have mercy on us!” 

“There is only one god and his name is Death,” Arya said, her voice eerily quiet, “and he’s out there waiting for all of us.”

“There is only one thing we say to him. Not today.”  
__________

“You could have been more gentle, you know,” I chastised her as we walked along the castle’s outer bailey. “These people are frightened.”

“Fear is often borne out of ignorance,” Arya said sharply. “No one coddled us during the war. And that’s why we’re still here. That’s why we survived.”

I looked at her. She was wearing polished mail beneath a black fur cloak. Her sword _Dark Sister_ was cinched at her waist and a silver chain was wrapped around her neck and from it hung a Valyrian steel dagger. She wore no helmet and her long inky hair was unbound, flowing loose around her shoulders.

Here is the real Arya. The _She-Wolf_. As beautiful as her Valyrian steel dagger, and just as deadly.

“I’ve seen them Arya,” I said, unable to mask my horror. “There’s too many of them, just too many…”

“And is that why Jon sent you back? To warn us?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “And he asked me to look out for you.”

She rolled her eyes.

“He wants you to be on the first ship leaving for the Reach.”

Arya snorted. “Not on your life, Baratheon.”

“Listen to me, Arya,” I said, my voice serious. “He’s fought them at Hardhome. He knows what they’re capable of. If he thinks…”

“You don’t like Jon,” Arya said abruptly.

“What?”

She shrugged. “Your voice gets huffy when you talk about him. Why?” 

Jon Snow is beloved by the realm. But none more so than his own men. They saw him enduring every bit of the same cold and hunger they did. And they knew that when they finally faced the enemy, their king would take his place in the front, at the most precarious spot in the battle field. 

He is a good man, Jon Snow is. But then I would see him looking at Arya, touching her in an intimate manner, and it was all I could do not to bring him down with a single blow. _What kind of man beds his sister?_

Before I could respond, Lord Brandon Tallhart approached us. 

“My lady, my lord,” the young lord said courteously. “I have received a raven from Deepwood Motte, the White Knife is deemed impassable.”

“We must cut through the forest then.”

“It’s too dark out there, my lady,” Lord Tallhart said, frowning. “How can we ride if we do not see where we’re going?” 

“Then we must stop trying to see with our eyes, my lord.” Arya said softly. “We must learn to see with our ears and our nose and our skin.” 

She closed her eyes and reached out to gently touch Lord Tallhart’s ears. “Listen, my lord. The wagons are already moving toward the gate as we speak.” She brushed a hand across the tip of his nose. “Breathe. And smell the pine needles from the trees growing at the edge of the wolfswood.” And slowly, she moved her hands and caressed his cheeks. “Feel. The wind is blowing from the northeast, from White Harbor.”

Lord Tallhart was predictably awestruck.

Then Arya opened her eyes, her gaze direct and implacable. “If we ride west then we should be able to avoid the worst of the storm.”

“Of course, my lady,” Lord Tallhart immediately agreed. “I would ride at the front of the column and lead the way through the forest.”

“I expected nothing less of you, my lord,” Arya said, smiling sweetly. 

I snorted in amusement as Lord Tallhart quickly moved to the wagons and gave the command to ride toward the wolfswood. 

“Spent a lot of time in the dark, eh?” 

Arya smiled faintly. “I was blind once.” 

I looked at her, surprised. “You were blind once?”

She laughed softly. “It’s just one of the many lives, I’ve lived. Blind Beth, they called me. And I would roam the street of Ragman’s Harbor and…”

“And?” I prodded, unable to hide my curiosity about the life she led back in Braavos.

She held up a hand, her eyes suddenly alert. “Listen…”

I listened and heard nothing but the sounds of people and horses moving about. 

Then a bloodcurdling shriek shatters the quiet.

Arya ran, her footsteps echoing through the flagstoned courtyard. 

“Shut the gate,” she shouted. “Shut the bloody gate!”

__________

_Arya_

Outside the castle gate, I could hear people screaming. But then the noise gradually fades away and the silence that followed was so palpable that I could almost feel myself choking on it. 

I drew in a ragged breath, ignoring the taste of fear in my mouth. 

_Fear cuts deeper than swords,_ I thought, quickly drawing my sword from its scabbard. _The man who fears losing has already lost._

Beside me, Sansa is sobbing quietly, her hands clutching my arm. 

“Sansa, take Bran with you and go to the crypts,” I said firmly. “Take all the women and children with you and seal the door.” 

“How about you?” Sansa asks, tightening her hold on me. 

“Don’t worry, Jon will come soon,” I said, squeezing her hand. “In the meantime, we will hold them off.” 

“But if the Wall has fallen,” Sansa’s eyes filled with tears, “then it could be that Jon’s already gone.” 

I felt the sting of tears at her words, but I knew that I couldn’t give in now. If I give in to the gnawing emptiness in my chest, then all would be lost.

I reached out and pulled my sister in a tight hug. “Go, Sansa. We do not have much time.”

Sansa nodded and quickly ushered the frightened women and weeping children into the inner bailey that led to the crypts. 

I looked at the men standing around me in the courtyard, young squires and peasant boys wearing chained mail and holding spears made of dragonglass. Most of them were barely old enough to grow a whisker. They were not ready for a battle.

I could smell their fear and see the panic in their eyes. They had been left here by their king to guard the castle against drifters while the king together with all the able-bodied knights rode north to protect the Wall.

We were lulled into complacency in the belief that the Wall will protect us but it was a sham. The Wall has fallen. Winter was finally upon us and with it comes death. 

I could hear the undead trying to scale the castle walls. It was only a matter of time.

With Nymeria beside me, I strode in front of the men, gripping _Dark Sister_ tightly in my hand.

“Winter is here, boys,” I said to them. “But you would do well to remember the name of this castle. This is where Winter ends. This is where they fall.” 

I heard a loud shriek and looked up in time to see a wight jumping down from the rampart. The wight had his nose bitten off and a long gash scarred his once-handsome face. His dark blonde hair was matted with blood and his blue eyes were cold and very dead. 

It was Lord Brandon Tallhart. 

I nearly screamed at the sight of him. And I felt bile rising in my throat as I drove my sword into his chest, his entire body slumping into the ground.

Another wight followed. They came one after the other, scaling the wall and jumping into the courtyard. 

Old Nan had been full of stories about the creatures beyond the Wall. But nothing could have prepared me for them. For the rotting faces and the organs slipping out of festering bodies. And there was so much blood. Blood oozed from open wounds turning the pristine snow-covered ground darker and darker.

“Hold ‘em, boys!” I shouted. 

Instinct took over. A wight charged at me and I took its head off with a single blow. Then another one appeared and I cut fast with my blade, driving it across its scarred chest. Another wight fell under _Dark Sister_ , turning its silver blade to black. 

Suddenly there were two behind me, their hands clawing at my shoulders. I heard a low growl as a lean black wolf jumped at them, savagely biting their heads off. 

Near the flanking tower, I saw Gendry smashed his hammer against an almost skeletal figure. He turned to look at me and his eyes were like black pits against his pale face. His black chainmail was marked with blood from a deep gash at the side of his neck. 

I turned around and found myself staring into a pair of blue eyes; deeper and bluer than any human eyes. The creature that stood before me was tall and gaunt, with flesh as pale as newly fallen snow. It raised its sword and thrust at me, but I managed to deflect it with my own sword. 

The air was filled with high-pitched screeching as our blades met again and again. Then I felt a sharp pain as the pale sword bit through my chainmail just above my elbow. Agony knifed up my arm and my grip loosened. Its next stroke sent _Dark Sister_ flying out of my hand.

I felt icy hands closed around my throat, squeezing the breath out of me. My lungs burned with every breath I drew and I could feel myself losing consciousness.

The stench of death filled my nose but beneath the putrid smell, lurked the sweet smell of the winter roses blooming in the godswood. The smell reminded me of the day of Lord Baelish’s burial when Jon tucked a winter rose in my ear as he kissed me. I want that day back. I would give anything to be with him again. 

There was a loud growl and as my eyes fluttered open I saw Nymeria attack the Other, her white teeth bared. And suddenly the pressure on my throat was gone. I dropped onto my knees, my hands braced against the ground while I frantically sucked air into my lungs. 

I felt a sharp pain and I looked up just as the Other drove his sword deep into Nymeria's belly. The blade went through her guts and into her spine, and blood, thick and black, ran down Nymeria’s grey fur.

I opened my mouth to scream but the voice that came out was no more than a whisper. 

“Nymeria…” 

The Other turned back at me, his eyes razor sharp. Its sword gleamed with a faint blue glow as he raised it and swung it towards me. It hit the ground with a loud thud as I swiftly rolled away, my body exploding with pain at the sudden movement. Gathering the last of my strength, I slid my dagger from its sheath and leaped at the creature, slashing at its neck. 

There was a loud _crack_ , like the sound of splintering glass as the Other dissolved into a million little pieces. 

I crawled slowly towards Nymeria’s prone body. She whimpered as I stroked her head until she was no more. I felt myself going numb. I was no longer cold and in pain, I no longer feel anything. For a moment I just wanted to lie there beside Nymeria, surrounded by all the other broken bodies. Death seems a welcome respite from the horror around me. 

_Jon_

It was the thought of him that gave me the strength to get up and reach for _Dark Sister_ lying a few feet from me. I made him promise that he’ll come back for me and no matter what happens, I will be here waiting for him when he does.

Suddenly there was a loud deafening roar and the ground begins to shake. I stumbled forward, trying to find cover as huge chunks of black stone pour from the sky. All around me I could hear people screaming and the undead screeching. 

The red-orange fire was the last thing I see before the world faded into black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest in peace, Nymeria xx
> 
> I have this tinfoil theory, given the hot springs that run underneath the castle, that Winterfell is actually built on top/near a volcano. And this would be a key factor during the Long Night, much like the Doom of Valyria centuries ago. 
> 
> Note: I also edited Chapter 20 because I wanted to show how Jon gave _Dark Sister_ to Arya. 
> 
> Your thoughts are much appreciated!


	27. The Long Night - Eastwatch-by-the-Sea

_Jon_

There was no escape. The undead surrounded us from all sides. 

Death is the enemy. And it is finally here.

_God help us all._

Then suddenly my horse reared and I found myself flat on my back, my ears ringing with a deafening roar. And in the ensuing darkness, my vision was filled with bright red-orange flames. 

There was another mighty roar and I saw a winged beast swooping down and breathing fire, turning the group of wights that surrounds us into ashes.

 _Daenerys,_ I thought with sudden relief.

Groaning, I pushed onto my feet, holding _Blackfyre_ tightly in my hands. In the darkness I could barely see the men beside me but I knew that Daenerys could not hold off the undead for long. 

“Retreat!” I yelled at the same time another burst of flames painted the dark sky a brilliant red. “Retreat, men!”

I could hear the thundering of hooves as the men galloped towards Daenerys. And my heavy boots sank in ankle-deep snow as I ran, faster and faster, while fire and brimstone pour from the sky.

There was an earsplitting screech and I looked up to see Viserion falling, an ice spear sticking out from the side of his scaled torso. The dragon plummeted towards the Antler and I could only stare in muted horror as the great white beast was slowly swallowed up by the rushing waters. 

The agonized howls of Drogon and Rhaegal filled the night sky. 

I looked at Daenerys Targaryen, perched on her black dragon. She was motionless, her face pale, her purple eyes burning with unshead tears. Behind her, I could see the rest of the men shouting at me but I was too far away to hear them. Too far away. 

_I’m not going to make it._

An ice spear landed just a few feet from Drogon and I looked around to see the Night's King standing on the other side of the cliff, holding another ice spear in his hand. 

“Go!” I shouted at Daenerys. “Go now!” 

Daenerys hesitated for a second, her eyes boring into mine. Then Drogon lurched forward, spewing ice and rocks as it arched upwards back into the sky. 

_Leaving me behind._

And so this is how it ends. On this cold night, standing beneath a black sky and surrounded by a sea of the undead.

I remember that long ago night at Castle Black when Bowen Marsh stuck a dagger into my heart. The red priestess had brought me back to life in the name of the Lord of Light. But I knew about death and the dark abyss that lies beyond. 

It wasn’t dying that I fear. It was what came after. 

A vision of Arya filled my mind. She wore a crown of pale blue roses and she was standing on a field of wildflowers. She was laughing gaily, her face turned towards the sun, clearly basking in its warmth. 

It was a beautiful picture. And I held on to it as I turned to face my own mortality. 

Pain rushed through my entire body, unlike anything that I’ve ever felt before as the undead advanced towards me. Slowly, much too slowly. Like a predator savoring the fear of its prey. 

Seconds pass. Maybe even minutes. And I just stood there, waiting for death to finally reach me.

Let them come to me. Let them all _fucking _come.__

Then suddenly a bright column of flames pierced the night. And the ground shook violently as Rhaegal landed beside me, its talons piercing the icy ground and its sharp teeth bared as it let out a loud roar.

I stood there, at a loss with what to do, until the dragon lowered its body to the ground. And as the beast opened its eyes, I found my own image reflected from its golden orbs.

I hesitated before reaching out to run a hand over its green scales, feeling a warm tingle starting from my chest and spreading through my entire body like wildfire. It felt like I was burning from within. The pain began to fade as power surged through my veins.

 _You are a Stark and a Targaryen,_ Bran once told me, _and you have the blood of the First Men and of Old Valyria running through your veins._

__I quickly climbed on top of the giant beast, an odd sensation filtering through my body as I held tightly on the spines running from the top of its neck all the way to its torso._ _

__Ghost leaped in front of me just as Rhaegal spreads its great wings and vaulted into the sky._ _

_Daenerys_

__He’s gone. Jon Snow is dead._ _

__Isn’t this what I wanted? Without Jon Snow, no one would contest my claim. I would rule the Seven Kingdoms as I was meant to do._ _

__Then why could I not forget how Jon stood alone, surrounded by the undead, as he sacrificed his own life for the safety of his men?_ _

__I drew in a ragged breath, trying to ignore the numbing pain in my chest._ _

__Ser Davos rushed towards us, his green cloak billowing behind him. “What happened? Where is the king?”_ _

__“He did not make it,” the wildling chief said, his gruff voice laced with grief. “He lost his horse and there were just too many of them…”_ _

__I could see the northern men turning to look at me, their eyes narrowed in accusation._ _

_I didn't want him to die!_ I wanted to rail at them but I kept my silence. Let them think what they want. Why bother to explain when they won’t believe me anyway?

__A high-pitched noise suddenly emitted from beyond the Wall and I looked up to see a winged beast flew over it, its shiny green scales glinting in the darkness. Hot wind blew through the small clearing as Rhaegal swooped down and landed on an empty patch of snow near the shores of the Shivering Sea._ _

__And the rider who sat on Rhaegal’s enormous head was none other than Jon Snow._ _

_He may be a Targaryen in blood and in name,_ Tyrion Lannister had assured me, _but only you have the dragons._

__I looked around, there was close to a hundred people — noble-born, hedge knights, squires, and peasants — standing in quiet awe as Jon Snow climbed down the dragon with ease and landed lightly on his feet._ _

The bond between the dragon and its rider was palpable even from a distance.

He was like _Aegon the Conqueror_ reborn.

__And in that moment, I could feel my kingdom slowly slipping away from my grasp.  
___________ _

__“Here’s a letter, Your Grace,” Ser Davos announced. “It’s from Lord Brandon Stark.”_ _

__Jon opened the letter, his dark eyes quickly scanning its contents._ _

__He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before addressing the rest of the war council. “It seems that Bran had a vision… of blue fire burning down the Wall.”_ _

__“Could it be Viserion?” I asked, horrified._ _

__Jon’s dark eyes found me in the crowded room and I could see the truth reflected in them. “It could be Viserion. We all saw what is out there, there were giants and bears and mammoths. So yes, it is entirely possible that the Night’s King would use Viserion to break the Wall.”_ _

__“If the Wall falls, we’re fucked,” Sandor Clegane said bluntly. “We don’t stand a chance against them.”_ _

__“How many castles are built along the Wall?” Lord Yohn Royce asked. “Not including Castle Black and Eastwatch.”_ _

__“There are about nineteen garrisons, my lord,” Lord Edd Tollett swiftly responded. “But most have been abandoned for years.”_ _

__“We can split all our men to stand guard in each garrison,” Lord Royce continued. “It’s the only way we can ensure that they do not make it past the Wall.”_ _

__“There’s a hundred leagues between here and the Shadow Tower,” Lord Brynden Tully stated. “We simply do not have enough men.”_ _

__“We do not know precisely where they would attack,” Jon said, spreading a large map on the table. “If we split our men and they decided to attack Eastwatch, we won’t be able to hold them off. It would be the same thing if they attack the Shadow Tower or Castle Black or any of the garrisons built along the Wall.”_ _

__Lord Tully turned toward Jon, his brows furrowed. “What do we do then?”_ _

__“We let the North fall.”_ _

__Everyone in the room heard the torment beneath his calm voice._ _

__“Pardon me, Your Grace,” Tormund said in an incredulous voice. “But are you fucking insane?”_ _

__Jon looked at the rest of the war council, his voice resolute. “If we would defeat the army of the undead then we must fight together, not apart.”_ _

__“There are two major barriers in the North, the Wall and the Neck,” Jon continued, unrolling the map further. “They could attack from all sides but they will need to pass through the Neck to get to the rest of the kingdom.”_ _

__He set his hand at Moat Cailin. “This is where we stop them.”_ _

____________

__Moat Cailin was a ruin. Through the grey mist, I could see the stronghold or what remained of it… three towers made of black basalt and covered in moss. The towers were surrounded by old birch trees that stood like pale ghosts against the dark swamps._ _

__We were greeted by the elderly lord of Greywater’s Watch and was ushered to the Gatehouse Tower where the southern lords were already gathered._ _

__Jon immediately approached Lord Willas Tyrell who was seated at the end of the table._ _

__“Your Grace,” Lord Tyrell murmured. “All the ships from White Harbor and Deepwood Motte have been safely anchored at the Reach.”_ _

__“My lord,” Jon said, reaching out to shake the older man’s hand. “I’m greatly indebted to House Tyrell.”_ _

__Lord Tyrell nodded, his face pale. “I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in my place.”_ _

__“Any word from Arya?” Jon said with a sheepish grin. “I was hoping she would be here.”_ _

__“Your Grace,” Lord Tyrell shook his head. “No one from Winterfell made it to any of the ships.”_ _

__Silence met his words._ _

__Then Jon finally spoke, his voice a mere whisper. “I beg your pardon?”_ _

__“Lord Glover sent men to Winterfell when none made it to Deepwood Motte,” Lord Tyrell turned his head away from the pain heavily etched on the king’s face. “But they found nothing, Your Grace. Everything was burned to the ground.”_ _

__“I sent Gendry to warn them,” Jon said hoarsely. “It could be that they decided to take shelter at one of the abandoned castles.”_ _

“Your Grace, the Wall has already fallen,” Lord Howland Reed said quietly. “There is no longer any place to take shelter in the north. The north is gone.”

I reached out to place a gentle hand on Jon’s arm but he quickly shook it off. 

__“Get out!” Jon shouted, his agony echoing across the vast room. “All of you, get out!”_ _

__“Your Grace…”_ _

__“GET OUT!”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Things were quite hectic these past weeks...
> 
> So what do you guys think happened to Arya? Any thoughts on what will happen next chapter?
> 
> The next one would probably be the last chapter set during the Long Night. Here's to hoping I get to update soon XD


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